


Dear Hunter

by Terion



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Turned Into Vampire, Gen, Original Character(s), Reworked Scene, This incarnation of Jonathan IS a monster and he knows it and acts like it, Turning Scene, Uneasy Allies, Vampire!McCullum, Vampire!Swansea, Vampires, evil!Jonathan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-06-16 13:32:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15438114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terion/pseuds/Terion
Summary: A Jonathan Reid who has fully surrendered to the darker parts of his being, abandoning most of the shreds of mortal bounds, goes up against Geoffrey McCullum at the top of Pembroke Hospital. When he wins, all he can think about is that this is the first fight of his unlife that he has trulyenjoyed. So, of course, he cannot let the man who might prove to be his equal in a fight go without a little...hmm...gift.





	1. Welcome to the World Through the Looking Glass

**Author's Note:**

> A simple rework and expansion upon the McCullum Turning scene because Evil!Jon climbed into my head and hitched along into some of the more fucked up features that have come out in my own personal vampires...and here we are. IE: I grabbed Evil!Jon and ran sprinting with him into the darkness as fast as I freaking could and he dug his fangs in _good_.
> 
> However, there is not and _will not_ be any kind of romantic relationship between Jonathan and Geoffrey if I continue in this universe. Jon sees him purely as a rival in this instance. Anything otherwise is him fucking with people because this variation gets a kick out of it.

Jonathan smirked as he stalked around the collapsed hunter, his senses telling him that his prey was certainly wounded but not broken. And that was good.

He did not wish McCullum to be _broken_.

Hmm, not unless he did the breaking himself, at least.

“Is that all, hunter?” he asked in a low growl. “I expected more of you.”

Though his skin still twitched and was burnt and blackened from the lights the dear Swansea had installed - a missed detail he would be having a little, hmm, _discussion_ with the doctor about - he did not feel weakened in the slightest. Most likely from having always fed well since he had given up the feeble attempts on holding on to what had remained of his mortal bounds. Yet also because the fight had _invigorated him._

He had not had a fight before that had made his blood run as hot nor one that had made him _grin_ as he danced with his opponent. Not even when he had taken down his Mary and removed a potential rival of similar caliber from the board. Well, not a rival per say at that time in his thoughts but _now_...oh, yes.

She had had the potential to be something _terrifying_...yet her own guilt and the shredded remnants of his own had stolen that opportunity in that rotting graveyard. Yet, now, who was there to match him?

Redgrave? Pah, even he, young as he was, could feel no threat from Redgrave. The head of Ascalon was old, true, but he was no _threat_. Jonathan wasn't even certain it would be that long of a fight if it happened, to be entirely honest.

Now...the Lady Ashbury. If _she_ were inclined, he sensed there might be quite the brawl across London. He could feel something equal to himself in her, something with as depths as horrific and bloody, yet she hid it. _Buried it_. Such a shame to let such a wondrous star flutter and die like that.

Who else was there besides those three? One dead, one fangless, and one bereft. The other Ekons in Ascalon and on the street were barely a flicker of a threat.

And he _longed_ for a true fight.

Where else to find one but in the mortal man who had fought so voraciously against him? Would it not be, hmm, _noble_ to give the hunter another chance? Perhaps even an advantage for the next time?

“Nothing to say, McCullum?” he asked as he made another circle, smirking down at the man’s back.

“We are the guardians of justice! Priwen shall prevail!”

Jonathan chuckled darkly at that and shook his head. “Falling back on rote and tradition then? How disappointing.” As he moved to stalk around the man another time, he smoothly leaned down and purred into McCullum’s ear, “What a pity that your precious repetitions will do little to help you here.”

The hunter jerked at the sudden closeness, attempting to swipe at him with his right arm, but McCullum’s current state made the move clumsy and painfully slowly. He easily leaned back out away from the motion with a low chuckle, dodging it as if it were an errant gnat.

Taking up his stalking around the man again, Jonathan pressed his lips into a thin line as he observed the hunter. Hunched and bleeding, exhaustion obviously weighing on him as he crouched before him on one knee and breathing hard, Geoffrey McCullum seemed well and truly beaten. Whatever that concoction was that he had drunk - and claimed was the blood of _King Arthur_ , how laughable - had apparently not been quite enough.

Enough to match him to a vampire, yes, when placed alongside the Leader of Priwen’s own skills but not enough to _beat_ one. At least not _himself_.

Humming under his breath, Jonathan asked airily, “You can’t accept that we haven’t been enemies in this quest, can you, McCullum?”

The hunter scoffed loudly and his head lolled upright for a moment, enough that Jonathan caught a glimpse of steadily blossoming bruises around one blue eye and a line of blood running from a broken lip down his chin. As McCullum opened his mouth to reply, he inhaled through his nose, growling darkly at the delicious smell of the hunter’s blood. It did not spark the general instinctive reaction blood usually did but that could be laid at the feet of his having fed well before he had come into this fight.

“Always have and always will be,” McCullum growled, half-spitting the words violently. “Your kind are one of the worst evils that threaten mankind, nothing more than a _corpse_ animated by evil.”

That bruised blue eye then focused on him as Jonathan circled around the hunter again, his pace slowing as he realized McCullum’s full attention was on him. The man’s lip curled into a sneer before he spat, “Don’t try and fool yourself, Doctor. You’re nothing more than a monster.”

Chuckling darkly, Jonathan smoothly darted towards the man, using his superior speed to seemingly disappear and then reappear directly in front of him. “You would be correct, dear hunter,” he growled darkly as he leaned over and reached out to trail his fingers along the other man’s jaw in one smooth motion, following the strong line of it until he grasped McCullum’s chin with his fingers. There was a soft puff of an quickly exhaled breath - the only sign of shock in the man - and Jonathan flashed his full fangs at him in a grim smile. “I _am_ a monster. Yet never let it be said that a monster cannot have _depths_ to his character.”

Rubbing his thumb idly against the man’s chin, stubble prickling the skin of his finger, he said gently, “Despite your opinions of me and my own, hmm, _nature_ , McCullum, I have no desire to see this city fall into total chaos.”

McCullum scoffed at that - another small exhale of breath against his skin - and snidely shot back, “There’s nothing else to say, leech. I know what you and Swansea were doing now, what you were doing to these people. You don’t care a whit for London, not any more than you cared for that woman you killed the first night my men saw your rotten corpse.”

Snapping his teeth together, Jonathan swiftly shifted his hand to fully grasp the hunter by the throat in a grip that was firm enough to gain attention but not yet enough to bruise. Leaning in to where they were nose to nose, he growled, “Have a care for what you say, _Geoffrey_. You think to know _me_ and my kind so truly?”

He might think many things now about the loss of his sister but she was _his_. And there had been a time when her loss had brought him true heartache. No hunter without a clue as to the circumstances that had led to her death would speak of her so.

“I _know_ your kind well enough, Doctor,” the hunter snarled angrily, his entire countenance screaming of a _fight_ despite the suddenly quickened pace of his heartbeat underneath where Jonathan’s fingertips pressed against the curve of his throat. “You had best kill me now, for there is _no way_ you can sway me to your ideals.”

McCullum then smirked despite the fact that he was crouched before him with such a powerful vampire’s hand on his jaw, and stated in a prideful tone, “I will _always_ hunt you down.”

Jonathan let out a throaty chuckle at that, the noise slowly transforming into a pleased growl. “Oh my dear hunter,” he purred, “that was _exactly_ the sort of response I was hoping for from you.” He felt the flutter of panic that statement caused underneath the palm of his hand, McCullum’s throat jumping and twitching.

“What do you mean?”

The hunter’s voice had a thin veneer of calm across the surface of itself but Jonathan could _feel_ his panic. He had to give McCullum credit that he hid his fears well, however, far better than many others could.

“Why, Geoffrey,” he growled as he bared his fangs, “my dear, you should know the answer to that question all too well.”

Now, _now_ , blind panic flashed through those dark blue eyes and it was so delightfully painful. Hunter become the hunted at last...well, not _quite_ entirely at last. Using the grip he had on the man’s throat, Jonathan pulled him up from the floor onto his knees, one of McCullum’s hands immediately rising up to grip onto his arm tightly.

“Yes,” Jonathan growled in a deep, dark rumble, “you know what I intend, McCullum.”

“No!” the hunter cried and there, yes, _there_ was the panic and fear in full force. God, it was _delicious._ Almost as good as his fangs in a throat and blood pouring over his lips. “Kill me!”

“But what would be the point in that?” he asked as he tilted the other man’s chin a little higher. McCullum grunted, arching his body in response to try and settle some of the sudden pressure placed upon the area. “No, no, dear hunter, there is little reason to take you permanently out of this world. In fact, I find it much more...hmm... _interesting_ with you in it.”

Smirking, Jonathan breathed, “Think of this as a _gift_.”

McCullum’s heavy breathing hitched before he gasped, “ _Gift?!_ This is no gift, _leech_.”

“Oh, Geoffrey, that is where you are so very very _wrong_.” Lifting his free hand to his face, Jonathan nudged the edge of his sleeve aside with his nose and bit into his wrist deeply, tasting for a moment of the cool, sweet nature of his own blood. Blood which dripped freely from his wrist when he pulled away, his own staining his lips crimson. “I may have not known what I was doing when I kissed my poor Mary goodbye but _now_ I do.”

“No, no, _no!_ ” McCullum shouted, all grace and order lost to blind panic. The man _flailed_ , his hands switching between gripping at Jonathan’s arms to attempting to claw at them through the fabric of his long coat. Desperate. Ever so _desperate_.

It was _beautiful_ in a most horrific fashion to watch the man utterly fall apart with desperation.

Chuckling deep in his throat, Jonathan brought his wrist back to his mouth and sucked in a mouthful of blood. He then moved to grasp the man’s face with both hands, using his thumbs to apply enough painful pressure to make McCullum cry out in pain. Even as the hunter fought him still, Jonathan leaned down to the man’s ear and softly breathed, “Consider this my kiss of Judas, dear hunter.”

As soon as the words were whispered out from between his barely open lips, Jonathan drew back before sealing his lips over the other man’s. The hunter let out a strangled attempt at a scream, trying desperately to close his mouth, but he dug his fingers in deeper to increase the pressure. Growling darkly, Jonathan opened his mouth fully and both heard and felt the strangled gurgles that McCullum let out in response to the blood now inside of his mouth. There was, however, no sensation of swallowing just yet.

Drawing back, he finally released the pressure on the hunter’s jaw but immediately put it back, grasping his hair in one hand and holding his jaw shut in the other. Looking down into those wild, desperate blue eyes, he stroked a finger along the man’s jaw and purred, “It’s already too late, dear hunter. Come now. There’s nothing to be done except to give in.”

When the man stubbornly made a choking sound and he saw tears welling at the corner of his eyes, Jonathan leaned back in and breathed into his closed mouth, “ _Surrender, hunter_.” He was not anywhere near attracted to members of his own sex but throwing them off balance with his actions was an entirely different matter. And any advantage he could garner was one that he was utterly willing to exploit if it worked in his favor.

He felt McCullum’s lips tremble beneath his and then they parted in a ragged, shuddering gasp as he felt the man’s throat shift as he finally swallowed. A moment later the man coughed before his weight suddenly start to fall backwards as he collapsed, a strangled gurgling in his throat and _terror_ in his eyes. Humming in a pleased manner, Jonathan released him, letting him fall backwards onto the floor, merely watching as he grunted and twitched.

With a smile, he slowly moved to where his feet were on either side of the hunter’s head and then crouched down. Reaching down, he ran his fingers along McCullum’s jawline, feeling the muscles twitch violently underneath his skin, before he sifted his fingers into the man’s hair. The hunter gasped several times, deep, heavy, heaving gasps that were obviously trying to draw air into failing lungs, and Jonathan just hummed under his breath.

“Just let go, Geoffrey,” he breathed as he watched the man’s head tip back, his eyes wide and full of fear. “ _Let go_ , dear hunter.”

That blue gaze seemed to lock onto his for a moment before he sucked in a gasping, quick hiss of breath...before it released as all fight went out of the hunter. Jonathan titled his head slightly as he watched the bright red glow of McCullum’s heart shudder several times before it finally fell silent, nodding to himself as soon as it was gone.

 _I’m sorry, Carl. I didn’t want this_ , was the last thing that fluttered through the hunter’s mind before the synapses sparked one last time and died.

It had taken his Mary three to four days before she had appeared as a vampire...yet that was likely from having to claw her way out of her own grave. McCullum would have no such obstacles in his way when he awoke needy and hungry, blind to anything but the addiction buried deep in the essence of all of their kind.

And the hunter would find him, he was certain of it.

Shivering a little at the thought of facing the hunter in another battle with the power of a vampire behind him, Jonathan smiled and looked down at the man’s face frozen in the mask of a horrified death. Chuckling darkly, he stroked his fingers through McCullum’s hair one last time in a more possessive gesture than an affectionate one, and growled, “Welcome to the world through the looking glass...my Progeny. Do find me when you wake.”

“I so look forward to what you will make of yourself.”


	2. The Other Side of the Looking Glass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made one little tweak to the first chapter to reflect something that popped up in this version but didn't in the original first chapter variation.

He had lost.

He had _lost_ to the fucking _leech_.

Whatever had been in that flask - _the blood of King Arthur_ is all that Carl had ever said, following it up with a growled, _it's only for the most fucked situation, lad, not for play, for life and death_ \- hadn't been enough. It hadn't been near enough to take on Reid.

And now the damned leech was _circling him_ like some buzzard over an abandoned carcass.

“Is that all, hunter?” Reid asked, his voice a low rumbling growl. “I expected more of you.”

Geoffrey ignored his question for the moment, grinding his teeth together as he swayed on one knee, the other leg utterly refusing to hold him up. He knew there were probably splinters from Swansea’s bloody disused floor digging into his skin through his pants but he couldn’t feel them. Not while entire body was _screaming_ in agony from the wounds that the leech had struck on him and what he could only guess was the toll that Arthur’s blood took on a body.

It surely wasn’t _right_ , drinking the blood of a King.

“Nothing to say, McCullum?”

Swallowing hard, Geoffrey realized that he _hated_ Reid’s smug fucking voice. Forcing past the pain, he snapped back with the classic rote of the Guard, “We are the guardians of justice! Priwen shall prevail!”

The damned leech had the _gall_  to laugh at him as he said, “Falling back on rote and tradition then? How disappointing.” Then he heard the bastard’s voice right in his ear, practically felt the rough hairs of his beard brush against the outer edge as well as his cheek, before the leech purred, “What a pity that your precious repetitions will do little to help you here.”

He jerked, instinctively going for a swift downward swipe with his elbow, but Geoffrey knew even as he made the motion that he was far too _slow_. His entire body was still screaming with pain and his shoulder wrenched in its socket. Even without hearing Reid’s chuckle at the wasted effort, he knew he hadn’t hit.

Instead he just braced his hand back against the ground and closed his eyes to try and stop the world from spinning just a little, all too aware of Reid circling around him again. Damn bastard needed to _hold still_.

“You can’t accept that we haven’t been enemies in this quest, can you, McCullum?”

At that, Geoffrey scoffed loudly and opened his eyes, managing to lift his head through great effort. He growled and spat out the words, “Always have and always will be,” in response. “Your kind are one of the worst evils that threaten mankind, nothing more than a _corpse_ animated by evil.”

And he noticed, oh, _he noticed_ , that little inhale of Reid’s. Knew vampires well enough that he knew one couldn’t resist a beaten enemy and the scent of blood. For all his power, this one was just like all of the rest of the leeches.

Focusing on the leech as he finished making another damned circle, he watched as his pace slowed as he realized that he was being watched. Geoffrey curled his lip and spat, “Don’t try and fool yourself, Doctor. You’re nothing more than a monster.”

There was little warning after that, just a small, subtle noise and the faintest burst of smoke, and abruptly Reid was _right there_ in front of him. Geoffrey felt _fingers_ trailing along the line of his jaw, a move that caused a shudder to race down his spine, and then Reid’s fingers grasped his chin and were, shockingly enough, quite warm to the touch. And all of that had taken place in just a matter of _moments_ , so few that the only response he was capable of was a shocked little exhale of breath at how fucking fast this leech was.

This _couldn’t_ be a few weeks old leech.

There was no fucking way.

“You would be correct, dear hunter,” the vampire growled and there was some menacing undertone there. An unspoken threat and promise of violence and pain as well as the deep thrum of a predator, a _true predator_. Then Reid flashed his full set of fangs in a grim smile as he rumbled out, “I _am_ a monster. Yet never let it be said that a monster cannot have _depths_ to his character.”

 _Depths?_ Geoffrey thought wildly. _Depths of what: madness? Torment? I've_ **_seen_ ** _the corpses you leave behind when someone's pissed you off, Reid._

He then went deathly still as the leech rubbed his thumb against the his chin, the sensation uncomfortable not only because the closeness of the creature but the unsettling _scratch_ of his stubble against his own skin. “Despite your opinions of me and my own, hmm, _nature_ , McCullum, I have no desire to see this city fall into total chaos.”

Geoffrey scoffed openly at that and, trying to keep up the illusion that he wasn’t bothered by having the leech so close, snidely stated,  “There’s nothing else to say, leech. I know what you and Swansea were doing now, what you were doing to these people. You don’t care a whit for London, not any more than you cared for that woman you killed the first night my men saw your rotten corpse.”

 _That_ seemed to hit some kind of nerve he immediately noticed because Reid snapped his teeth together in obvious annoyance. Then his grip shifted, moving to grasp his throat in a grip that was firm enough to keep him held in place but not harsh enough that it would leave bruises. Not _yet_ anyway. He honestly didn’t expect the leech to last long before he finally killed him, especially when the doctor suddenly leaned in to get nose to nose with him and growled, “Have a care for what you say, _Geoffrey_. You think to know _me_ and my kind so truly?”

He really _had_ hit a nerve, hadn’t he?

Who exactly had that woman been? His men had only informed him of her death by a brand new leech that had fled from them and he’d matched up the times he’d discovered surrounding Reid’s first known appearances and his men’s own descriptions to match him to the leech from that night. The one thing he hadn’t done was look into who she had been...and suddenly Geoffrey was regretting it.

Reid had _known her_. He could feel it.

And, with their faces this close, he could see every detail of the leech’s bloody eyes. The iris’ themselves held little remnant of the original color, that pale hazel mix of green and blue first seen in Swansea’s office having turned into a pale blue with slitted pupils that was slowly being leached away by blood red at the edges. Around the iris was the blood red so deep it was nearly black that was the most immediate sign of a vampire who fed well consistently.

Those eyes so close to his face had steel back in Geoffrey’s spine even as a thrill of danger went through him. If he could get Reid angry, he could potentially get the leech to attack him. It certainly wasn’t the death he had imagined over all these years but it was bloody fucking better than anything else. Walking away would be the best option but he had been stalking this leech for months.

The only person who had walked away from an encounter with him was that former nurse in Whitechapel and he was certain that was only because she could prove to be useful. Anyone else that had tangled with Reid was dead.

“I _know_ your kind well enough, Doctor,” he snarled angrily. “You had best kill me now, for there is _no way_ you can sway me to your ideals.”

Geoffrey then smirked, pretending for a moment that he didn’t have a leech’s hand on his throat, those hidden claws just inches away from shredding him, and added pridefully, “I will _always_ hunt you down.”

He’d expected the response to be those claws in his throat.

The response he got was...disconcerting...to say the least.

Instead of looking angry, Reid just let out a deep chuckle that slowly turned into a pleased growl. “Oh my dear hunter,” the vampire purred, his face still far too close for comfort, “that was _exactly_ the sort of response I was hoping for from you.” And, for a moment, Geoffrey lost hold of the iron will keeping himself from reacting to the situation and felt his skin twitch wildly along his throat in pure _panic_.

He didn’t…

“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice low and his eyes on the doctor’s face. He tried hard  to keep his voice even and calm but even _he_ heard the panic underneath. It was _infectious_ , like a disease starting at his throat from that first traitorous response and rippling outward, each wave stronger and stronger.

“Why, Geoffrey,” Reid growled, baring his fangs, “my dear, you should know the answer to that question all too well.”

_He does._

He knows what the leech means better than anyone and it brings back horrors that he’d thought long buried. His Ma, dead on the floor, her throat torn out, and his Da - or the thing that had _been_ his Da - standing over her with her blood on his hands. His own hand, older, stronger, yet still _shaking_ as he held a gun to his own brother’s snarling face, no longer seeing anything of Ian in those bloody eyes.

And suddenly all there is is _panic_.

Blinding, animal panic that makes him want to sprint and flee, that reminds him far too much of the boy who managed to get away before the monsters could eat him too. The energy of it jolts through him, trying to send the needed power to all of his limbs, but it is _fleeting_ and drains away before he can manage to do anything useful with it. Instead he is dragged up onto both knees by the grip Reid has on his throat and tries - God, does he _try_ \- to lift a hand to grab onto the leech’s arm to try and break his grip. Yet as soon as his hand closes around the vampire’s arm all he can do is hold on as if his life depended on it.

“Yes,” Reid growled, his voice a dark rumble, “you know what I intend, McCullum.”

“ _No!_ ” The denial is torn out of Geoffrey’s throat before he can stop it, the single word feeling as searing as a hot poker. “Kill me!”

“But what would be the point in that?” the leech asked as he tilted his chin higher. Geoffrey grunted at the sudden pain of the strain from the position, arching his body instinctively to try and relieve some of the pressure. He could feel his own blood pounding in his ears as the panic takes him, drowning out almost all other noise except for Reid’s voice, and feels more than hears his own ragged breathing. And all he can do - _all he can do_ \- is clutch at the fucking leech like _he_ is going to save him.

“No, no, dear hunter, there is little reason to take you permanently out of this world. In fact, I find it much more...hmm... _interesting_ with you in it. Think of this as a _gift_.”

His breathing hitched because _this was happening this couldn’t be happening it couldn’t it couldn’t_ and then Geoffrey managed to gasp, “ _Gift?!_ This is no gift, _leech_.”

“Oh, Geoffrey,” Reid drawled, sounding almost bored, “that is where you are so very very _wrong_ .” And then he watched, frozen in horror except for the quaking of his own limbs, as the damned leech pushed his sleeve aside and bit into his own wrist. All he saw was red: red dripping from his bleeding wrist, the red in Reid’s inhuman eyes, and the red now clinging to his mouth and beard. “I may have not known what I was doing when I kissed my poor Mary goodbye but _now_ I do.”

 _Mary?_ A small fragment of his brain caught onto the name, filing it away. The rest went to panic.

“No, no, _no!_ " he shouted, a sudden surge of panic and energy filling him and breaking the grasp of the horror. Yet all he could do with Reid’s grip on his throat was try to flail his body to break free. All that did was hurt his neck and he ended up just clawing at the sleeves of the vampire’s long coat.

Geoffrey barely registered the leech’s chuckle before he felt both of the man’s hands frame his face. Then Reid’s thumbs _dug_ in underneath his jaw and Geoffrey involuntarily cried out in pain before he could stop himself. As he gripped the leech’s arms, trying to drag him away or at least get the damned _thumbs_ out of his fucking jaw, he felt the rough scratch of his beard against his ear again as the man breathed, “Consider this my kiss of Judas, dear hunter.”

Then his lips were over his, lukewarm and _wet_ , and through his forced open mouth Geoffrey tried to scream. He tried to shut his mouth to keep it from happening, anything to keep that damned _blood_ from entering into him, but Reid, _damn him to Hell_ , just dug his thumbs in all the harder. Then there was a growl from the vampire before his mouth moved and _the blood was in his mouth._

_The blood was in his mouth inside him oh God no no this couldn’t be happening he didn’t want this he couldn’t become one of them he couldn’t._

Geoffrey tried so hard to focus on not swallowing it, as if that would make any difference. _It was inside of him._ Carl had always told him that even a little blood from a vampire could start a change and Reid…God, he didn’t know what the fuck Reid was but he was no normal leech. Then there was a hand in his hair, gripping firmly into the longer strands at the top, and another hand at his jaw. Holding his mouth shut. Keeping him from potentially spitting this cursed blood out onto the floor where it belonged.

And he felt a single finger stroking along his jaw before the leech purred, “It’s already too late, dear hunter. Come now. There’s nothing to be done except to give in.” Geoffrey determinedly stared past Reid’s face, trying to focus on something else, on _anything else_ ...but all he could feel was that _finger_ against his skin and the _taste of blood_ in the back of his throat. Tears welled up at the corners of his eyes, partly from strain and partly because _he did not want this._

“ _Surrender, hunter_ ,” the leech breathed into his mouth, his breath somehow warm despite the lukewarm sensation his lips had had. He felt his lips tremble in response, his entire _body_ trembling, and then they parted in a ragged gasp as he could hold it back no longer. The blood slid down his throat without a fight and Geoffrey felt as if it _burned_ the entire way down.

He let out a strangled gurgling noise and suddenly he was falling backwards, the last sound in his ears Reid’s damned chuckle before he hit the floor. Before his back even hit the floor, Geoffrey was coughing and spasming, clawing at his chest as if he could drag the tainted blood out of him. But it was too late. It was all too late.

_Carl...Carl, I am sorry. I failed Priwen. I failed you._

He could feel himself _dying_.

His body was shutting down one part at a time, a dramatic cascading sequence that kept him gasping and twitching against the floor.

Geoffrey was vaguely aware when Reid crouched down above him, and began running fingers through his hair. He gasped in deep, heavy, heaving bursts to try and draw air into failing lungs and all he could hear was fucking _Reid humming from above him._

“Just let go, Geoffrey. _Let go_ , dear hunter.”

He breathed in and somehow, _somehow_ , he knew this was it. The last breath.

The last time he was human.

He wanted to hold it, to keep it in, to freeze time and trap everything here in this moment.

...but that wasn’t how things worked.

Geoffrey exhaled and he felt everything go dark, his last thought being, _I’m sorry, Carl. I didn’t want this._

* * *

_Wake up, dear hunter. I left a surprise for you. He should be there quite soon for you to...enjoy._

He jolted upright, gasping heavily and clawing at his chest with both hands. He felt _choked_ , felt like he was _dying_.

 _Already dead_ , whispered some distant part of his brain.

Then he inhaled deeply, his breath catching in his throat, as he caught up a familiar scent coming up the elevator nearby. He heard it land on the floor heavily, someone opening the gate a moment later, and turned just as his vision shifted and lit them up. In bright red, a pulsating mass inside the center of their chest and all the threads that flowed out from it like a fraying skein of wool.

Abruptly there was a sudden pause, a shocked intake of air, and he saw the shadows around that pulsating, tempting red move.

“Sir?” came a stunned voice in a questioning tone.

He...he didn’t know anything. Except that he wanted that red. Needed that red. Needed it, needed it, needed it, it would fix _everything_.

Whining slightly in the back of his throat, he started to drag himself forward across the floor and the shadow stumbled back. He heard the click of the gate coming down and then the rumble of the elevator boomed through the large open area as it descended again.

It was gone.

_Gone._

The hunger pangs from his belly tore at him and he whined before curling up on the floor, keening softly to himself. Where had it gone? Why had it left? The voice had said it was a _surprise._ Had it lied?

God, why did everything _hurt_?

Turning his face towards the floor, he just laid there panting with splinters digging sharply into his forehead. He could feel himself getting weaker without any of the red, his entire body feeling heavy and weighed down. _Where was it?_

It seemed an age before he twitched at the sound of the elevator again but this time he couldn’t even lift his head. He only whined weakly as the door opened and the footsteps cautiously approached him, moving as if he would rise up at any point of the most minor of stimulation. But he was too tired, too weak.

“Sir?” came that voice again, soft and a little broken sounding. “I’m...I’m going to help you. Don’t bite me, all right? Please, sir. _Please_. I don’t want to have to kill you.”

All he could manage was a whine in reply and then a small hand slid underneath his chin, lifting his head up. The motion wrenched at his shoulder and he shifted, pushing up on to one elbow as he breathed in through his nose. _It was here. The red!_ He could see it blooming across the shadow, that beautiful and tempting plain of red, and he leaned forward with mouth hungrily open and his teeth _aching_ to bite something.

“No!” snapped the voice and something was suddenly thrust underneath his nose.

Something that smelled _good_ , smelled just like what he _needed_.

Greedily he grabbed at whatever it was within, feeling cool glass underneath the suddenly overly sensitive skin of his hand. Without any aim or real knowledge of what he was after, he lifted it up towards his mouth, felt the cool rim of a glass or bottle against his lips and then... _exquisite bliss._ It poured into him, down his throat and into his belly, where it sat, lukewarm and now thoroughly unsatisfying.

But it wasn’t _enough_.

There was the soft noise of another bottle being sat on the floor and as he whipped around towards it, that voice said, “I brought another, sir.” His hands were on it before the words were even out and this one was _still a little warm_ as it ran down his throat. As soon as it was dry, he licked his lips, chasing after every last drop, before he collapsed back down onto the floor. Everything became a little blurry as he felt even the slight heat in his belly lulling him into something akin to sleep.

When he came to the second time, Geoffrey _remembered._

Staggering to his feet, he looked around frantically, trying to find where the body was. Because he could _feel_ the blood in him, could feel it pooling in his belly, could feel the sudden _power_ in all of his limbs after he’d been nearly dead from exhaustion just before Reid’s little...show.

And Reid had turned him.

_He was a fucking leech._

When his foot suddenly hit glass, Geoffrey paused and looked down, frowning and tilting his head curiously as he found two empty glass bottles there. Crouching down, he picked one up and sniffed slightly at the open rim, feeling his entire body tense up the moment he smelt the scent of blood.

_What the fuck happened…_

Suddenly the elevator behind him started moving and he startled to his feet, dropping the bottle and leaving it behind. Fearing this was the fucking doctor back again to check on his _precious Progeny_ , he scrambled for his sword and found it near where he had been laying on the ground. It still felt _good_ in his hand and he took some small comfort in that as he flexed his grip around it and turned to face the elevator just as it opened.

Only to find himself looking at the far too young face of one of his rookies.

“Hawk,” he stated numbly, surprised to see her. “How did you know?”

The rookie jerked down their face wrap and mask - common equipment amongst the Guard to protect them against disease - and abruptly Hawk’s feminine features were obvious. She grimaced before replying, “That leech, Reid, found me sir. Told me that you needed help and gave me the directions to get up here.”

 _Bastard!_ Geoffrey raged silently. _I’d have killed her! I could have killed her if I hadn’t trained her to be fucking smart!_

“And then...I came up here and saw you on the floor. Whining. In pain.” He turned to look at her and she just shrugged before saying, “I know what I _should’ve_ done, sir, but I...I couldn’t. Not after what you’ve done for me.”

Grunting, Geoffrey let his sword fall from his hand before hissing, “Leech is a leech, Hawk. Even if it's me. _Especially_ if it's me.”

She started took a step forward then stopped, her hands clenching at her sides as she gritted her teeth. Then she breathed, “You’ve been like a _father_ to me, sir. I couldn’t... _I couldn’t_.”

_Christ._

Grunting, Geoffrey turned his face away, not knowing how to answer her. He knew firsthand how hard it was to kill kin...and he had done it. But he had had that trauma of watching his mother die behind him when he’d hunted down his brother with help. Hawk had no such things behind her except what had driven her to Priwen in the first place...and her story wasn’t near as dark as his own.

Swallowing thickly, he asked, “Who’s blood, Hawk?”

“I scrounged the hospital until I found something in an icebox. Dunno who’s blood it was but it weren’t _mine_ which was the important part,” she replied.

Despite the situation he choked out a laugh and nodded, saying, “Aye, that was the important part.” Then Geoffrey sighed and closed his eyes, lifting a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose. Even with that, he could sense Hawk slowly moving forward towards him and she kept moving until he held up his other hand in a clear gesture of _stop_.

“Sir,” she began but he cut her off with a sharp, “ _No_.”

He then looked up at her and he felt terrible when he could see the crushing realization on her face. She was a good kid and had the makings to be a damned fine member of the Guard. And she was _smart._

“You...you aren’t coming back, are you?”

“I honestly don’t know, Hawk.”

“Don’t lie to me, sir,” she snapped back angrily. “I can take it.”

Scowling, Geoffrey snapped, “When have I ever lied to you, Hawk, about _anything_?” When silence answered him, he nodded sharply before lowering his voice gently. “I can’t go back to headquarters until I get the hang of this. I won’t kill one of my own men on accident.”

Bending down to pick up his sword and sheath it, he added in a growl, “I won’t let the leech win on that one.”

Silence answered him for a moment before she asked, “What do I tell Captain Lynch?”

He knew what she was asking. Did she keep this a secret...or did she tell the others? Was he really coming back or was he just going to disappear? Better yet, was he going to go on the Guard’s lists as one to watch for if they needed to be put down? Honestly...he didn’t know all of the answers. But he knew he couldn’t go back to the cramped headquarters of Priwen right now.

Not when he was doing his all to not _stare_ at her every time his vision flickered dark briefly without his control and he could see the steady thump of her pulse pounding inside her chest.

“Tell him he’s in charge,” he replied, “That Priwen will do what it needs to do to get rid of the last of these skals...but I’m calling the Great Hunt off. There’s just too much danger right now.” Geoffrey then frowned, scrubbing at his lips with the back of his hand until he felt the sharp points of the fangs in his mouth dig into his skin. “As for me,” he continued bitterly as he watched the brief gash he’d made seal over quickly, “tell them I’m still stalking Reid. That he escaped and went to ground.”

She nodded and he could _smell_ her tears. Fuck.

“Mercy,” he said gently, using her natural first name for one of the few times he had since he’d had the eager and _obviously_ lying about many things young woman come to sign up for the Guard. When she turned to look at him, wiping her eyes furiously, Geoffrey gently said, “Even if I don’t come back entirely, I’ll be around.”

“That’s not the same, sir,” she breathed, “but I guess it’s all I might get, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

Hawk nodded to herself then, blinking her eyes multiple times, before she let out a heavy huff of breath as pulled her face mask and scarf back up over her face. Once they were secure, she looked sharply at him and saluted, before she stepped into the elevator and was gone.

Alone again, Geoffrey drew a deep breath into his lungs before he moved to one of the windows of the upper area of the hospital, not wanting to chance actually walking through it for the same reasons he’d given Hawk. He didn’t trust himself. Knowing leech behavior like he did, he definitely didn’t trust himself around the people he cared most about or the patients of this damned hospital, who he was fairly certain were unaware of Reid’s true nature at this point.

As he finally found a window he could shove open, he narrowed his eyes and bared his new fangs as he growled deep in his throat before he even swung one of his legs outside to figure out how to get away from this fucking place.

He also had a _score_ to settle with Jonathan Reid.


	3. We Are All Monsters Here, My Dear Swansea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven’t seen it on Tumblr, [sdeeys](http://sdeeys.tumblr.com) did a freaking _fabulous_ bit of art that was inspired by Dear Hunter. It’s just...lovely. And I’m about five thousand levels of giddy in that a fic of mine inspired art for the first time in years. [Here’s a direct link](http://sdeeys.tumblr.com/post/176452231067/let-go-dear-hunter-eviljonathan-inspired-by).

“Pitiful,” Jonathan sneered as he tossed aside another Priwen corpse. Whatever training McCullum had been giving them was absolutely _atrocious_ if this was the sort of fight they were putting up. A whole _one_ of them had touched him...and that had been the boy who he’d come across as he had made his way around the streets behind the theater before entering it. The boy had fired a warning shot that had clipped his cheek to leave a bloody, burning line behind and he had shadow stepped towards him with a snarl.

He had stopped his claws just before he would have shredded the scarf around the boy’s neck on a whim, just to see how much it would terrify him, and had been pleasantly surprised. Although he had seen his heartbeat had picked up frantically and he had been shaking like a leaf...the boy’s hand had been _steady_.

Jonathan had grinned at him with fangs bared and, while the boy’s gray eyes had widened, that steady hand hadn’t wavered. He had actually been quite impressed with that one in that moment given the boy was so short and slight in stature underneath the cobbled together Priwen armor.

Perhaps, he had thought, he would... _reward him_...for his brave little stand. Such a display deserved a reward, didn’t it?

“You and your, hmm, _friends_ , have something of mine inside, little hunter,” he had said with a smirk. “If you do not wish to die alongside them when they try to stop me, I would suggest you make your way over to the Pembroke.”

Pale blond eyebrows had gone up and the boy’s voice had been muffled from behind his scarf and what appeared to be the top of a gauze mask as he queried, “The hospital? Across the canal?”

Chuckling, Jonathan had run the tip of a claw lightly across the boy’s cheek; not enough to draw blood but enough to cause a delightful shudder of fear to quake through the boy. Oh how _easily_ he could have torn that flimsy cheek open and _feasted_...but no. No, his Progeny that he had left behind would have need of a meal and he had the thought to be ever so kind as to provide one of a similar vein to that which he had had upon his own awakening.

What _lengths_ , he’d thought, would such drive his dear hunter to?

Removing his claw, he had replied, “Your brave leader is there at the top of the hospital. He decided to take the lead in a dance he couldn’t quite complete the moves for and I’m afraid he needs a bit of...help.”

Those gray eyes had suddenly narrowed and the boy hissed, “You’re the doctor vamp. Reid.”

“That I am, little hunter.” Jonathan had then leaned down and breathed in deeply, letting out a hungry growl as his eyes had slipped shut at the exquisite mix of the smell of fear and the blood in the boy’s veins. Quite obviously also not caring about the fact that the muzzle of the pistol had then been tucked snugly against his shoulder with the shift of position. “And you,” he had growled darkly, opening his eyes to slits, “are being given a temporary _out_. I suggest you take it.”

The boy had narrowed his eyes and then flicked them down at his claws, before bringing his gaze back up. Jonathan had then heard the shift of their finger off the trigger and grinned before saying, “A wise choice. Go to the second floor when you reach the Pembroke and up the stairs on either the left or right to the third. There will be an elevator there that you will take up and there will be your leader.”

“And he’s alive?” the boy had snapped, sounding ever so _fierce_.

Oh, Jonathan had gotten such a _gleeful rush_ when he had replied, “For now, little hunter. Now run...before I change my mind.”

Laughing as he ceased lamenting about the boy, Jonathan shook his head as he continued on through the theater. It really was a pity that he had sent him off as a sort of sacrificial lamb for his Progeny. He had actually been quite impressed with a member of the Guard of Priwen for the first time in quite some time given the boy’s reaction. A true shame that he probably wouldn’t make it through to another sunrise.

Taking a moment to glance around the theater to see how many beating hearts were left within, he made his way down the stairs into the basement area where the last few seemed to be centered. There were two of them below him that were moving back and forth, pacing in two different areas...and then there was the third, unmoving heartbeat. A heartbeat that was obviously sluggish, not quite to the point of being terribly close to death but one that certainly would be soon without proper care.

 _Edgar_.

Jonathan narrowed his eyes at the implications of that sluggish heartbeat and the very telling position of his arms as revealed by the smaller bursts of red that he could see above the shadow of Edgar’s bowed head. He bared his fangs and darted down the stairs in a burst of shadows and smoke, lunging at the first Guard on the lower floor who foolishly had his back to the stairs. The man didn’t even have time to scream before he tore into his throat with his claws and released a spray of blood into the next room.

There was a shout of surprise from there and another Guard came around the corner with a crossbow at the ready, their face hidden behind a gas mask. He darted forward across the space between them with a snarl, feeling the thump of a crossbow bolt in his hip but it did little to stall his forward momentum. With one hand he tore the crossbow out of their hands, throwing it errantly behind him, and the other violently ripped the mask from their face along with the heavy canvas hood they were wearing. The terrified face of a young man stared at him for a moment, skin scratched raw in spots from the violence of tearing the gas mask away. Jonathan grasped a handful of the front of their shirt with one hand and jerked the man forward to bury all four fangs deep into his throat around his jugular as his other hand tore the crossbow bolt from his hip. There was a strangled cry from him, more choking than an actual scream, and the young man’s hands tried to shove him away for a moment but there was no releasing now.

He had his prey in hand and he would have its death as well, one way or another.

Eventually, as the young man bled out and he greedily drank, those struggles faded away until he had to grasp his shirt with both hands to keep the man upright. Finally pulling away from the young man’s throat, Jonathan dropped the corpse with an errant disregard and turned towards the door to his right, idly licking the blood from his lips as he opened it. Inside was what he assumed had been Doris Fletcher’s personal dressing room and there, almost standing in the center of the room, arms pulled up above his head and tied to one of the beams of the ceiling, was the dear Doctor Swansea.

The scent of blood was thick in the room but it was not from blood being shed, oh no. He could smell it coming from the man himself, from within him, a sure indicator that his diagnosis was far worse than originally suspected.

Stalking across the room, Jonathan wrapped an arm around the man’s waist, taking on his weight as he reached for the dagger he carried underneath his coat. “Edgar, can you hear me?” he asked as he severed the rope with a swift strike, not even grunting as the man’s weight slumped heavily onto his arm. With a regard that was a mix of carelessness and concern, he sheathed the blade and then used his now free hand to pull the man upright by the back of his shirt and coat.

“Jonathan,” came the pained, groaned reply and he scoffed.

“Who else would it be that would dare the _wrath of Priwen_ ,” Jonathan replied, heavy mockery in his tone as he said the last words. The wrath of Priwen had not been anything to fear here inside the theater and he suspected with their own leader a...hmm, what was it....a _bloody leech_...that they would not be putting up an entirely concerted effort against anyone for some time. He shifted his grip on the man then, grunting as he physically lifted him off of his feet and planted him heavily in a nearby chair.

The other doctor groaned as his spine thumped against the back of the chair and blinked open bruised eyes, coughing even as he chuckled without much humor. “Don’t try to spare me the details,” he said with a slight tone of bemusement. “As a physician I know all too well that it is too late for me.”

Edgar then tipped his head back, letting out a sigh, before he listed aloud in a matter-of-fact voice, “Punctured lung. Broken ribs. Internal bleeding. An accurate diagnosis, wouldn’t you say, Jonathan?”

Flaring his nostrils as he caught the scent of blood again at the mere mention of it - though the smell was stronger now as he knelt next to the other doctor - Jonathan replied, “Accurate enough. Now what happened.” The last was not stated as a question but a _demand._

There was silence for a moment before Edgar bowed his chin and looked away, his eyes focused on some blank spot ahead of him. “They wanted me to confess...beat me black and blue for it.” He then shook his head and added in a strained voice, “I never thought that that self-righteous fanatic would dare attack us so openly.”

 _That_ brought a small grin to Jonathan’s face as he thought back to the hunter’s delicious fear, to his useless denials, and that final shuddering breath he had taken. Chuckling darkly, he stated, “Geoffrey McCullum made an attempt to ambush me at the Pembroke, insisting that you and I were responsible for this Skal epidemic. I have, however, put him in quite the delicate position by making him immortal.”

Edgar’s head came up slightly at that, his eyes wide despite being foggy with pain (though still not focusing entirely), and he asked, “Are...are you certain that was the wisest course of action? The man is nothing more than a _brute_ , Jonathan.”

“Oh, I believe my dear hunter has far more depths than you might be inclined to believe, Edgar.” He then pursed his lips and frowned before reaching out to slide his fingers along the other man’s jaw before deliberately tilting his chin up to look at him. “Speaking of my fight with our good hunter, Edgar...ultraviolet curtains and orchicalcum powder on the third floor? Were you preparing to defend against _me_ or another invader? Think _carefully_ of your answer...my friend.”

Those hazy, pained eyes focused on him finally then and there was a flicker of fear in them for a brief moment. “Against you?” the other man stammered, his voice shaking. “I have never had a reason to do such a thing, Jonathan. And that room has long been a fail safe of mine in case of a vampire attack upon the hospital, no more, no less. You must believe me, my friend.”

Jonathan stared down at him for a long moment, his gaze assessing, before he smiled and gently stroked his thumb over the man’s chin. A mirror of the same move he had done to Geoffrey only a little while earlier in the night. “I suppose I believe you in this,” he purred. “Though...the most _interesting_ part of my dear hunter’s accusation was that you and I were the pawns of an ancient vampire.”

Scoffing, Edgar flinched and Jonathan could hear the hitch in his lungs and the barely hidden gasp of pain the motion caused. “William Marshal?” the man managed to say with a strained laugh. “Yes, they tortured me for the same nonsense.”

“What nonsense is it really, Edgar, when _you_ speak of Marshal as if you know him personally? How exactly is that to be if Marshal is no longer in this world?”

There was a flinch, a subtle, _minute_ flinch at that question and Jonathan’s eyes narrowed to slits as Edgar groaned, “I cannot...I cannot say I am ready for yet another round of questions.”

Snarling angrily, Jonathan moved his hand in one swift motion, going from gently touching Edgar’s chin to _gripping_ his jaw in his hand. “I believe,” he snarled, “that you will be ready for whatever amount of questions I so choose to ask you, my dear Swansea. There is _far more_ going on here than what you have been telling me, Edgar, and I _will_ know it.” Leaning forward into his space and watching the _fear_ fill his eyes, he inhaled deeply and then let out the breath in a growling purr. “Do _not_ make me go delving in your mind for the answers, my dear. You may still have some use to me with your brain intact and it would be such a _loss_ of a brilliant mind if I utterly broke you with some errant slip of a foolish newborn.”

“You...you _wouldn’t_ …”

“ _Do not test me, Edgar_ ,” he snapped in a snarl, his voice full to the brim with a push of mental willpower. Normally the administrator of Pembroke was fairly immune to his charms...but now? Broken and dying? Oh, now was _certainly_ the time to gain any control over the dear Doctor Swansea that he could.

The man let out a pained whine before exclaiming, “I have nothing to hide, Jonathan! Nothing at all!”

Leaning further into his face, making the other man flinch, Jonathan snapped, “Oh come now, Edgar! You can surely follow where I’m going even in your state!” Pausing for a moment, he looked the other man in the eyes before he continued. “Doris Fletcher visited her mother at Pembroke, _that_ is how she was infected!”

Edgar’s face twitched in confusion, his bruised eyes blinking several time before he stammered, “I...I know _nothing_ about that. Miss Fletcher only came that _once_ to visit the sick. That...honestly, Jonathan, that is all I know!”

“Oh, no, there is so much more than that. Come now, my dear Swansea, follow along with the rest of the class.” Lifting up his free hand, he snapped his fingers next to the other man’s face, making him jump in surprise and groan when the pain hit from his injuries. It was a _delightfully_ tormented sound. “Doris Fletcher was Harriet Jones’ _daughter_ and each showed all of the same symptoms between them: blind hate and strong physical mutation. So, tell me, Edgar, what exactly does that mean?”

“I...I’m not sure. What does this sad story have to do with us?”

Growling, Jonathan lunged across the little space between them since he was already in the other man’s face, snapping his fangs angrily. Edgar yelped as he snarled, “Did I not tell you to not _pretend_ with me, Edgar?” As the man sat shivering in the chair, quaking out of obvious fear and nervousness, Jonathan hummed before using the thumb of his free hand to brush the suddenly appearing tears away from the edges of Edgar’s eyes. “Come now, come now, my dear,” he purred in what should have been a soothing tone but came off with an underlying menace. “ _I_ may have all millennia but I am afraid that _you_ may not have all that much longer within this world.”

“I swear, I’m at a complete loss, Jonathan!” Edgar exclaimed, shaking his head as much as he could since Jonathan still held his jaw in a firm grip. “All I did was administer vampire blood to cure old Harriet. There was no evil plan here, you must believe me!”

For a second he was certain that he had heard wrong. His hearing, however, had been quite good even before he had unexpectedly gained his affliction. Instead his mind flashed back over everything that had happened so far this night and he wanted to _laugh_.

His dear hunter had been _right._

With a great deal of disgust, he released Edgar’s jaw with a harsh flick of his wrist and stepped back, staring down at the man. All of the implications of what he had done were...horrifying. Oh, yes, he himself had begun ignoring many of his own oaths that he had sworn as a man and a doctor, using the latter to great skill to ease his way into a kill if the need arose.

Yet he was at least _honest_ about his own monstrosity.

“You did _what?!_ ” he snarled as he stopped moving backwards.

Edgar let out a breath, his chin dropped to his chest in seemingly utter exhaustion, and replied, “I tested the regenerative and healing properties of vampire blood on Harriet Jones.” He then lifted his head slightly, just enough that his eyes could be seen, and added, “I admit to that, I do, but my only intention was to find the cure for the influenza. I swear to you!”

“Vampire blood?!” exclaimed Jonathan, taking a stalking step back towards him. Looming over the other man, he snarled, “Whose _blood_ did you use, Edgar? William Marshal’s? _Mine?!_ ” If it were his own, he _would_ strike the man down here and now.

“I...Lady Ashbury’s….while giving her a transfusion of human blood in order to attempt to humanely appease her hunger, I also...I...I also kept samples of her blood. For my research.”

The Skal epidemic had begun from the blood of that wondrous fallen star? Was such merely a product of vampiric blood...or was this part of the darkness that she hid behind gentle smiles and the so-called compassion of a sweet release from the pain of death? Jonathan was admittedly _...intrigued_. Perhaps the Lady had more depths than he had given her credit for.

Yet, as fascinating as that little detail was, Edgar had violated her trust. Her faith in him. It was terribly monstrous of him and he had honestly thought Edgar to be better than such.

How amusing that the dear Doctor was just as damned as he was.

“You used _her blood_ on Harriet Jones? Why, Edgar, how terribly unethical and yet how poetic. Betraying two of your patients in one fell swoop!”

 _That_ actually brought a reaction from the other man besides pain, his brow furrowing in obvious anger as he lifted his head. “How _dare_ you judge me?” Edgar spat viciously. “Need I name the rather alarming list of your victims, for I have been keeping _track_ of them. _I_ am not some mortal with the wool pulled over his eyes, Jonathan! I _see_ your eyes as they are! I see _you_!”

Grinning, Jonathan leaned back in towards him, their noses practically touching. “And now I see _you_ , my dear Swansea. A doctor without a clear grasp of morals, who cannot even uphold his own oaths that he swore!” As the man flinched, he chuckled darkly before continuing, “Oh, we are _both_ deceivers, Edgar, my dear, but I at the very least _admit_ that I am a monster and do not pretend to be less than that. Unlike you who hide behind your walls and your words and pretend to be a _saint_.”

The other man just blinked at him before shaking his head vigorously in obvious disbelief, saying, “You have worked besides me. You _saw_ what I am doing at Pembroke Hospital, Jonathan, you _know_ I’m not an evil soul. I’m just...just another victim of this tragedy.” This close to him, he could see tears welling in the man’s eyes, and this time he let them continue to rise until they spilled across bruised cheeks.

It was the tears that he truly wondered at. Tears for _what?_ For himself? For the Lady that he had betrayed? For the chaos and pain he had caused by his foolish experiment?

“Another _victim_? Pah.” Taking his Edgar's chin in hand again, he growled harshly, “Do not be so rude to those who have truly been victims of this epidemic, Edgar. It is _unseemly_ , even for monsters such as us.”

Jonathan watched as something _broke_ within the other man’s eyes and Edgar closed them, tears gathering thickly at the bruised corners. His voice wavered and broke as he asked, “Is that all I am in your eyes, my friend? If I may still...call you that? Here at the end?”

Oh.

 _Oh_ , he did not _suspect_.

How... _delightful_.

Chuckling darkly, Jonathan gently tweaked his chin and purred, “At the end? Oh, no, Edgar. _Oh no, indeed_. This is not your end.”

The man froze, body abruptly taught and quivering in the chair, as he breathed uncertainly, “I...what?”

Growling low in his throat, Jonathan released him and began to slowly circle the chair, trailing the tips of his fingers up Edgar’s arm and then over his shoulders. The shudder that ran through the other man as his fingers slid across the back of his neck seemed half fear and half nervous anticipation and he could hear his labored heart skip more than a few beats. As he crossed to the other side of him, he lifted his hand to grasp the side of Edgar’s face as he leaned over and snapped his teeth together close enough to the man’s face that he could taste the salt of his tears upon his lips.

“Did you think I would simply let you pass from this world?” he purred darkly as he mockingly carressed the man’s face. Edgar grimaced and flushed in return, torn between slowly rising terror and the attraction that Jonathan had always suspected was there but had never acknowledged. “Do you really believe that I would let a _monster_ like you die? No, no, indeed, my dear, I think that I will instead give you that which to match what you already have.”

With a cold, savage smile, he reached up to grasp Edgar’s chin with his other hand, turning him to face him as he deliberately bit into his own tongue. Jonathan let the blood roll around his mouth for a moment before he swallowed the first bulk of it and bared his now bloodstained fangs as he leaned in to brush his lips over the other man’s. As Edgar shuddered and let out a ragged breath, his eyes wide with surprise, Jonathan finished roughly, “A monster’s _thirst_ to match your _soul_ ,” before he finished crossing what little space was left between their mouths.

Unlike McCullum, Edgar eagerly opened his mouth beneath his, all too willing to drink from an Ekon’s vein. Much as he might be amused by the dear doctor’s little obsession with his kind...it would not do at all to let him get overly comfortable. Snarling into the other man’s mouth, Jonathan drew out his claws, not particularly caring for how they were facing. Edgar howled in pain as the claws pierced his skin, abruptly trying to pull away, but he held him fast as blood ran from the wounds to drip onto the already stained doctor’s coat. He kept his claws out as he shifted his grip on the man, digging the tips into Edgar’s cheeks as he finally pulled away with a bloody smile.

“Jonathan,” Edgar gasped, breath hitching, pupils blown wide with need that was chased by the pain of his fresh wounds, “I…” He then spasmed, his entire body twitching and seizing as if in the wake of a seizure, and Jonathan smiled in a pleased manner.

Dragging the claws of one hand across the man’s cheek enough to open up two jagged wounds on it, he leaned in to lap his tongue across the wound. Enough to get a taste....and get a better sense of his soon to be Progeny.

 _Did you not know this is what I have always wanted, Jonathan?_ was the final thought that flickered through man’s head and Jonathan just chuckled. “Oh, my dear Swansea,” he purred as he stroked a claw across his still currently bleeding cheek. “Your immortal life will be _nothing_ so pleasant as you might think.”

“For you see, dear Edgar,” he continued with a wide smile as he watched the last flickers of life leave the man, “while I may be inclined to let my dear hunter have a long leash since he may pose a challenge someday, you will get no such lengths. I simply want to watch you _fall_ , to stand witness as you realize the monster you are. Don’t fail to amuse me...my friend.”

Jonathan finally pulled away then, smiling down at the temporary corpse of the man before he released his claws and began licking the blood from his fingertips as he left the room.

 _You survive by my will and mine alone, Edgar Swansea. Do try to be entertaining,_ he thought quite deliberately towards the man, wondering if it would register when he awoke. If he would hear it at all as his Mary had.

_Or next time you will not wake from a meeting with my fangs._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, as a bonus, here is a sketch I did of Mercy Hawk.


	4. The Will to Keep Moving Forward

Geoffrey hates how _alive_ being a leech makes him feel.

It is like every ounce of his being is locked at the level of an intense fight. There is a hyper awareness of his surroundings constantly now, something he only ever rarely experienced in the hardest fights of his life. His limbs aren't shaking but it feels like they _should be_ with the power in them. He _feels_ powerful, like he could take on the entire bloody leech population of the city.

Yet he knows it's just the blood that Hawk gave him the night before. Soon he'll begin to feel the loss of it as his new body works through what little of it he has in his system. He knows because he can _feel_ the hunger burning low in his gut and his fangs haven't retreated like a non-starving vampire's do.

But still the feeling is...addictive. It feels _good_ . Is this why most leeches inevitably fall into bloodlust and die on the end of Priwen’s blades? Chasing this feeling? This... _euphoria?_

Suddenly he can understand why.

The temptation to just keep feeling like this is a powerful one. To just fall into what feels like a yawning abyss before him and _let go_.

 _Let go, dear hunter_.

Geoffrey gritted his teeth as the memory of that phrase flitted through his head, feeling the sharp twinge of the tips of his fangs against his lower gum line. He could remember trying to pull air into his lungs in that moment, feeling them stutter and fail, feeling himself _die_ , as Reid dragged his fingers through his hair. And then waking alone and _hungry_ with Hawk sent to him as an apparent sacrifice.

_Sir? I’m...I’m going to help you._

She _should_ have killed him. Should have shot him or staked him or chopped his fucking head off. He had been practically defenseless, a maybe hours old starving leech who wouldn’t have been able to protect himself against her. If it had been anyone else amongst Priwen, he might have called them a damned fool when he’d finally come to.

It was his own fault for having taken Hawk under his wing when she had showed up to join Priwen dressed in boy’s clothes with her ash blonde hair cut in a jagged, obviously self done hack job about her ears. Of course, she’d lied and told him she was seventeen (obviously _not)_ , that she’d watched her mother get eaten by what he knew were Skals by the description (half a lie, he’d learned), and that she wanted to join Priwen to save others from what she’d gone through. The last had been the one truth and half what had prompted him to take her in. The other half was that there had been an eagerness in her as she’d stood there in his office in the Whitechapel command post, one that reminded him of himself when Carl had taken _him_ in.

So he had pulled her in, showed her the ropes himself when he could, and had given vague yet pointed advice on how to act like an older boy in his teenage years and not a girl who’d only just seen fifteen. And he had always respected her choice to use the name Hawk, only having called her Mercy three times since that day he’d asked her for her real name...one of which included the night before.

Was it a fucking wonder to discover she looked at him as he’d once looked at Carl Eldritch?

Thinking of Hawk led him back to the night before after he had left the Pembroke, when his feet had automatically begun carrying him back towards the closest command post in Whitechapel. Before he had remembered he was a fucking _leech_ now and that he couldn’t go back to his men just yet. He thankfully hadn't been spotted when he had heard one of his patrols on a side street near him...though that was more because he had moved to dodge out of sight quickly and had ended up staggering to one knee as he was abruptly on a bit of scaffolding further down the road. Head spinning and feeling ill as he realized that he’d unconsciously used a leech power, Geoffrey had struggled to stand back upright to lean against the building for a long moment before he had jumped down. He remembered marveling a little at how his legs had taken the impact of the drop with zero protest from his knees as he would have expected only hours before.

Before he had ceased being human.

The few hours left of the night after that had led him to an old safehouse at the edge of the border between Whitechapel and Finsbury Gate that hadn't been used since Carl had been in charge. It was just a little hole in the wall of a building that had still miraculously been locked up tight, the sort of place meant to be rested in for just a night or two if need be. The bed and its linens had smelled like arse but there wasn't anything to be done about it since by the time he got there the sun was rising.

He'd felt it coming, like an oppressive sort of pressure that just kept increasing, weighing down on him more and more. Yet Geoffrey had struggled stubbornly against it, shrugging out of his coat to lay it aside over an old chair and removing his weapons to leave himself in just his shirtsleeves, vest, and scarf. He had found an old mirror in the middle building, slightly spotted but clean enough, and propped it up near the boarded up windows so he could watch for the first rays of the sun as he tugged off his scarf. The fabric caught at his fingers at points, slightly stiff with blood from his messy first meal, and he grimaced. Wadding the fabric up in his hand, Geoffrey had spat onto it then leaned down to look in the mirror as he scrubbed at the remnants of blood on his skin.

Fuck, he could _smell_ it then even though the blood was dried and it just made his stomach clench with _want_.

He had stubbornly waited until the sun had risen, small beams of light filtering through the boards. A leech burning in the sun was one of the first lessons Carl had taught him and he had done it by chaining one up in the open air. God, he could still remember the smell of its flesh cooking in the sun. Could still remember it and so many others howling in agony as they burned from the outside in.

Morbid curiosity had brought one of his hands slowly up, fingers shivering in nervous anticipation before he dipped them into the beam of sunlight. The effect had been instantaneous, his skin cracking and blackening dramatically like the leech’s had in their fight as his entire hand felt like he had shoved it into a blazing fire. Staggering backwards with a strangled cry of pain, Geoffrey had dropped onto the bed as soon as his calf muscles had knocked into the frame, his unharmed hand clutching at the wrist of the wounded one with his fingers digging into the nerves and muscles there as if that could stop the pain. When the skin had finally healed back over, the exhaustion caused by the sun had finally become strong enough that he couldn’t resist it, and all he could manage to do was roll over onto the bed before it took him.

After all of that, after all of the events of the night before, he was left where he was now: sitting on the bed in an old abandoned Priwen safehouse and wondering how long he could fight the temptation. How long had Reid kept it up before he had given up, tossing away what shreds of his humanity were left to replace them with a monster? Better yet, how long could _he_?

How long could he control this want and need clawing at him from the inside?

Or would he also eventually fall too, like all leeches?

“No,” Geoffrey finally said out loud, his tone firm and committed. “I will not become like fucking _Reid_. I’ll kill myself first.”

 _But would you?_ asked a traitorous whisper in the back of his mind and he growled angrily, slapping his knees before he pushed himself to his feet. He needed to get out of here, needed to move, needed to prove that he could control this. Control _himself_.

Strapping his weapons back on quickly, he threw his coat on over the ensemble to hide them all, and automatically reached for his scarf. He had it nearly up to his face before he scented the blood on it again and that aching _want_ inside of him seemed to curl its claws in even deeper. Disgusted, Geoffrey threw the fabric across the room, as far away from himself as he could possibly get in the small space, and then stormed out the door into the night.

He did, at least, have enough forethought to lock it behind him.

Thankfully, too, he knew the plans for all of the Priwen patrol routes as Lynch and the other Captains would keep to habit even if they pulled the men back like he had told Hawk.

Geoffrey scowled as he stalked through the Whitechapel streets, hearing the screams of Skals just a few streets over. There wasn’t a patrol set at this end of Whitechapel, which meant that no one was going to come down this way to wipe out the damned leeches. Although... _he_ was here.

And what better to test himself on than an old enemy?

He found himself grinning at the thought, fangs no doubt on full display, but he didn’t care at that moment. The thought of a fight had his blood running hot and he already felt like he was in a constant state of being in one. What would an _actual fight_ make him feel?

Curiosity pushed him forward and he came around the corner where the Skals were with his sword drawn. There were four of them there, two crouched over some poor asshole’s dead body and the other two simply wandering around. He narrowed his eyes at the closest one and charged towards it, only to feel something similar to that strange sensation of the night before when he had jumped from the street to the scaffolding. That had been like his entire body had painfully come apart for an instant before reforming in a rush that felt both _good_ and _wrong_ . _This_ was like....falling but without the actual fall. There was a brief sense of weightlessness, of vague warmth as he crossed the space in a rush, and then he was in the Skal’s face with his sword already in mid-swing.

The Skal’s head separated from its shoulders as he finished the swing and bounced away, leaving the body to fall backwards fountaining blood. Geoffrey felt the smell of it hit like a body blow and he turned his gaze towards the other wandering Skal as it noticed him. He felt oddly detached from himself as he made a...a jump but _not a jump_ , he needed a better word for it than that...over to it, still feeling some of the sick feeling from the night before but significantly lessened. Enough that he could _control_ the sensation this time. Before the Skal could scream to alert the other two, he hammered the hilt of his sword into its sternum in a blow that rocked it backwards into a stagger.

Then all he saw was _red_ as his vision flickered dark again like at Pembroke.

All he smelled was _blood_ from the fallen Skal.

And he lunged forward, dropping his sword so he could reach out and grab the Skal’s torn and dirty shirt with both hands. He shoved the thing to the ground and followed it down, knees planting on either side of its hips as he dove for its exposed throat.

The _skin_ of the thing felt rotten and dirty, sick with disease, but as soon as his fangs dug in and tore at the flesh, he tasted sweet relief. Geoffrey’s hands tightened on the Skal’s shirt and his eyes slid shut as he drank, glutting himself on the lifeblood pouring out of the wounds he’d made. It was far different from the blood that Hawk had brought him the night before...but it still soothed that ragged ache inside his belly.

Finally the detached sensation faded and he jerked away from the dying Skal, panting heavily as a last near swallow of blood dripped from his mouth onto its dirty shirt. “The fuck,” Geoffrey gasped before wiping his mouth frantically, blood smearing across his hands, and levered himself up to his feet. He backed away from the Skal’s body in horror before looking down at his now bloodstained hands.

He had attacked it like a _beast_.

What if it had still been a _person_ and not a leech itself? Would he have lost control as easy?

Could he even _trust himself_ anymore?

The heel of his boot suddenly hit something and he turned, staring down at his sword on the ground. He had just...let it go. Had let it slide from his hands so he could have the thing’s blood. He hadn’t even _hesitated_.

What was he becoming?

Geoffrey’s hands were shaking as he bent to pick up the sword, his eyes drifting over to the remaining two Skals. They apparently hadn’t alerted at all to what had been going on behind them, too engrossed with ripping and tearing at the corpse they were occupied with. Sneering, he narrowed his eyes at them and this time actually _tried_ to make that little jump forward across the space between himself and them. The tearing apart sensation was even less distracting now with a third time of having done it and he bared his teeth as he brought his sword back for a heavy swing as soon as he was behind them.

As both bodies fell to the ground, he sheathed his sword and walked away from the scene, feeling sick and ill all of a sudden. Mostly because though he could still smell the blood that had been spilled but it was no longer pulling at him so much. There was no longer that harsh draw and tug towards it that there had been since the hour he’d reawoken the night before and fully realized it was there. And the entire reason for that sat thick and heavy in his stomach, the Skal blood fully satisfying his hunger for the time being.

Christ, he hated it.

He hated this entire thing.

Yet...it was either die...or learn to live with it.

And he was too stubborn an asshole to just roll over and _die_ like some dog.

Not before he tore Reid’s throat out _himself_ with his own _fucking teeth_ for what he’d done.

Geoffrey then felt...something...that interrupted his darkening thoughts. Like a tickle at the back of his neck or fingers just barely brushing across the base of his spine. Jerking his head up and around, he realized that he was in the middle of Finsbury Gate, actually just outside the theatre where he had set up a temporary outpost after they had tracked everything to it. No doubt his men that had been stationed inside were dead now since the leech had gone after Swansea.

But what was he sensing?

Reid?

 _No_. No, if the leech were around, he wouldn’t be hiding. The bastard wasn’t the sort.

Then what?

Scowling, he began to investigate, stalking the street in front of the theatre and trying to get an idea of where the weird sensation was coming from. He finally eased up to the door and pushed it open, nostrils flaring as the scent of blood and death hit him from within. Then Geoffrey paused and bent down, reaching out to touch a bloody shoe print that was just inside the door, and looked at the ground outside the theatre for similar. He caught a trace of one by scent and shut the theatre door, following it and then another until it became too faint to follow.

Growling in annoyance, he tried to think of what he could do to continue tracking it. The shoe print _definitely_ wasn’t one of his men’s - they all wore heavy boots and this was a much finer gentleman’s shoe - so it was either _Reid_ or _Swansea_. But how could he…?

 _Wait_.

Leeches could _see_ blood. He had been doing it uncontrollably since the night before, especially when hungry, but it he could figure how to do it at will…

Frowning, Geoffrey scratched at his chin for a moment and tried to _think_. Perhaps it was just focus? His new senses were already keyed at a higher pitch than they had been, already evidenced to him with how he perceived his own surroundings and self. So it should not take much to bring his eyes to that level of perception he’d had at other times.

Dropping his hand from his face, he focused on the last shoeprint that he knew the location of and stared hard at it. For a long moment nothing happened except feeling a slight strain in his eyes and then his gaze slid _away_ from the print. Abruptly the world snapped into stark grays and blacks but the shoeprint he had been focused on and several others leading off in a trail stood out bright as daylight, blood red against the ground. Grinning at his success, he followed the trail but frowned as he realized that it simply led around to the backside of the theatre.

As soon as he rounded the corner, he heard a sharp intake of breath from somewhere to his right and turned with his hand on his sword. He saw the gleam of reflective eyes from the shadows near the scaffolding at the base of the building, too big to be a cat and not bright enough to be a Skal. That tickle _itched_ at the back of his neck again and he growled, “Come out and face me, coward. I won’t be an easy meal.”

There was a low whine in response and the owner of the eyes moved forward slowly, as if crawling on their hands and knees. Geoffrey frowned as he saw blood stained hands and a soiled white coat before he followed it up to the familiar face that was wide-eyed and panting heavily, the pupils narrowed to small dark points that were nearly lost in brown that was starting to bleed to pale blue at the edges, both sets of fangs out at their full length and on display. The man’s face was still bruised and bloodied but there was fresher blood around his jaw and mouth. In the aftermath of whatever had happened as well, he seemed to have lost his glasses but had taken a coat from one of the Guard, the huge garment draped heavily across his shoulders.

“Christ, Swansea,” Geoffrey breathed at the sight of the man. He then scowled and growled, “I bet you _begged_ Reid to turn you. Can’t believe he actually fucking did it. Figured that asshole would have just let you die.”

When there was no response except Swansea shuffling forward again, another whine coming from the man, he frowned. Stepping forward a few steps, he stated sharply, “Swansea. _Swansea_ , you Stole bastard, talk to me.”

And suddenly he can see _them_ now that he’s closer. Alongside the blood at his mouth are gaping unhealed wounds that looked to be caused by a vampire’s claws digging in underneath his jaw. There is also a long gash along one of his cheeks, which wouldn’t have come from his own men, not when he had told them to hurt but not actually cause dire injury to the man.

Plus that look in Swansea’s eyes is that of a man who’s utterly detached from the world. Which...if the fucking leech turned the man last night after slaughtering the whole of Priwen who were in the theatre...that meant…

There hadn’t been a living body left for the bastard to feed on. And if Reid hadn’t tried to send a gift like he had to Geoffrey, that probably meant he didn’t care. Which mean that this _wasn’t_ being turned as a favor or as punishment nor even as a _gift_ as the leech had phrased it to himself. It was purely for _amusement_ letting him suffer like this.

He wasn’t a fan of Swansea in any way at all but _this_?

This is cruelty for cruelty’s sake.

Moving forward across the rest of the space between them, Geoffrey leaned down and grabbed Swansea by the arm to pull him upright. As soon as he did, that tickle solidified into sudden _awareness_ , like seeing the man for the first time. The sensation seemed to affect the doctor as well as he inhaled sharply through his open mouth and his pupils widened for a moment, his eyes finally seeming to focus.

“M...McCullum?” he stammered. “What are you…”

“Just keep your shit together for a walk,” Geoffrey snapped back in reply, his tone rough. His grip on Swansea’s arm, however, was firm but gentle, enough to keep the doctor at his side and not let him get away from him. “You think you can do that?”

The awareness in Swansea’s eyes was already fading and the man managed a vague nod before he drifted back into that vacant stare. He did, however, step in even closer, tucking his shoulder right up against Geoffrey’s in a confusing move because Swansea disliked _him_ as much as _he_ disliked the other man.

Yet there was a strange... _comfort_...in having the man there that was was disconcerting. Was this more leech nonsense? He had never heard about the Progeny of a single vampire having a connection between them before but, then again, the Guard didn’t keep too many informational records unless they involved killing vampires.

Fuck, he might have to go see _Talltree_.

Shaking his head, Geoffrey pushed that off until another time. Right now his goal was making sure Swansea didn’t fucking murder anyone.

He led the man back to the safehouse without incident, quickly unlocking the door and leading him inside. Directing him over to the bed, he pushed him down and then glanced around, hoping for a length of rope or _something._ Having no such luck, Geoffrey pulled off his own belt and used it to take Swansea’s wrist and tie it to the frame of the bed tightly. He then grasped the man’s face in both hands and growled, “ _Swansea_.”

Awareness sparked again and when the doctor _flinched_ back from him, he knew whatever happened had been bad. What cruel thing had Reid done to the doctor? “Look at me,” he demanded. When Swansea still didn’t, he growled and focused as he hoped this would work before snarling, “ **Look at me.** ” The effect of his voice darkened with power was instantaneous and the older man’s eyes were pleading as they snapped up to look at him.

“ _Please_ ,” he begged in a half-broken whisper, voice wavering. “ _Please I…_ ”

“Leave it for now, Doctor,” Geoffrey ordered. “I need you to do one thing for me. _Do not leave this building_. Do you understand? You are to stay here until I return.”

“Y-yes.”

“Good.”

Taking a step back, he watched the man for a moment, waiting for some kind of sign of him to move. Swansea just swayed in place on the bed and then let out a low needy whine before he ducked his shoulders, half disappearing into the overlarge coat still draped over his shoulders. When he began panting again as he’d been doing behind the theatre, Geoffrey turned and left, securely locking the door behind him again for the second time that night.

_Now what was he going to fucking do?_

Hawk had given him human blood at Pembroke but the fucking hospital was further than he wanted to walk. It was already sheer luck that Swansea hadn’t stumbled across some poor bastard to feed on tonight and he wasn’t about to press that luck any further than necessary. So something nearby.

Hearing the squeak of rats as he walked back into Whitechapel, he briefly debated catching them but...no. He was still only a few hours new to this but he could recognize a starving leech even without a leech’s senses. It would take far too many rats to bring him out of the state he was in and Geoffrey wasn’t about to spend hours gathering rats for the Stole bastard.

A human was, of course, out of the question.

There was a animalistic shriek from nearby and his lips thinned as he pressed them together. Skal it was then.

Following the sounds of the shrieking, he found a lone Skal where he had left the other four earlier, bending over the body of the first beheaded one. It looked up instantly as he deliberately stepped on a stick on the ground and screamed before it leapt at him. He dodged its leaping attack, his body slipping easily into that falling sensation he’d had earlier, and suddenly he was behind it. Grabbing it by the shoulder and one arm, he growled, “Not tonight, leech,” before he jerked its arm up and behind it with a sickening crack. The Skal screamed in response and turned to swipe at him with its other arm but he merely dodged that attack in the same manner before repeating his action again. Then, before it could do anything else, he grabbed both of its shoulders and kicked one of its legs as hard as he could in the back of the knee.

When it went down with a sickening crack, Geoffrey sneered and then left the Skal there for the moment, going to dig through some of the trash piles nearby for something he could work with. When he found nothing there, he moved to the corpses in disgust and managed to walk away with a grimy belt and a ratty scarf that was mostly intact from one of the beheaded ones. He quickly trussed up the Skal’s arms behind its back, bending the broken limbs harshly before he looped the belt around them and buckled it tightly. Then he snarled, “Shut up,” as he looped the scarf through its mouth and tied it at the base of its skull.

Luckily Skals didn’t have the healing rate that normal leeches did.

Hoisting it up, he made his way back towards the safehouse with the hissing and growling Skal over his shoulder and slipped inside. This time he left the door open for the moment and approached Swansea still sitting dazedly on the bed, letting the Skal drop to the floor unceremoniously in front of the man. When he didn’t react at all, Geoffrey rolled his eyes and growled under his breath, “You _owe me_ for this, Swansea,” before he leaned down to snatch up the snarling thing. Gripping its shoulder in one hand and wrenching its head back with the other to expose its throat, he snapped in that commanding tone again, “ **Swansea. Drink.** ”

There was a sniffing, searching noise in response and the doctor leaned forward, his nose wrinkling slightly as he got closer to the Skal’s neck. Rolling his eyes, Geoffrey growled, “I _know_ it smells like fucking arse but I’m not going to hold this thing all night for you. **So fucking drink.** ”

The second command seemed to finally startle some awareness back into the other man’s eyes and they darted up to him briefly before Swansea finished moving forward. He sank his fangs into the Skal’s throat and the thing screamed behind its gag but Geoffrey wasn’t paying attention to that anymore. No, he was staring down at the man who was blissfully drinking from the thing and wondered if that was what _he_ had looked like earlier as he had fed.

He didn’t move until Swansea himself pulled away, licking blood from his lips with that still vacant expression in his eyes, then he hefted the Skal up again. Not walking too far away outside, he loosened the gag from its mouth as well as the belt before he let the corpse fall to the ground, knowing that the sun would clean up the remains when it rose again. As he made his way back to the safehouse, he wondered what the Hell he was going to do now.

Once he was back inside, he found Swansea had finally pushed the coat off of his shoulders and was sitting there on the bed with his head down. His arm was still tied to the bedframe and Geoffrey moved to release that restraint and reclaim his belt now that there hopefully wasn’t any need for it. As he finished, there was a sniffling noise from the other man and he froze for a brief second.

Was he...was he really _crying?_

Straightening up and putting his belt back on as he crossed the room to put space between them, he gruffly stated, “Crying because it’s _me_ here with you, Swansea? I assume you’d have rather had fucking Reid here to feed you instead.”

“No,” came the half gasped reply. Swansea then lifted his head, red streaking his face from his still bruised but now actually healing eyes, and stared off into the distance as he shook his head. “Perhaps once, McCullum, but no longer. He is…”

“What? A right fucking bastard?”

“Those are not the words I would use but...yes. Yes, McCullum, is that what you wish to hear?” Swansea looked up at him then finally, eyes slightly narrowed and Geoffrey noted that the blue had taken over the brown more strongly now but it hadn’t managed to completely erase it yet. He could also see the the wounds on the man’s face were slowly closing up, leech healing finally kicking into gear to do the job. “That the man I thought was my _friend_ would be so thoughtlessly cruel?”

“Thoughtlessly!” Geoffrey exclaimed, throwing up his hands. He then darted across the room in that same quick burst of motion as when he’d been dodging Skals earlier, startled when Swansea let out a frightened exclamation and flinched back, lifting his arms protectively in front of him. The reaction made him stop in his tracks and he deliberately gentled his tone as he said, “ _Christ_ . I may be a bastard, Swansea, but I’m not going to _hurt you_.”

“Yet you kidnapped me and had your men do so!” the other man exploded, suddenly seeming to find himself again. He lowered his arms and snarled, “Shall I recount the injuries that your men gave me, McCullum? A punctured lung! Broken ribs! Internal bleeding! For someone who so proclaims that he and his men do not kill humans, I was well on my way to being a _corpse._ My blood would have been on your hands!”

Curling his lip, he growled back, “And you still ended up being a corpse in a different way.” He then scowled and added, “I ordered my men not to cause harm while they interrogated you after I left.” What else could he have done other than that? He could not have both confronted Reid and remained in the theatre. What else could he have done besides trust his own men?

 _You could have done better_ , hissed a disappointed sounding mental voice that sounded suspiciously like Carl.

Swansea sneered and Geoffrey absently noted that the man’s fangs had mostly retreated, yet were still a little more evident than a normal leech’s. Probably from the level of starvation he’d been at before the Skal. “Oh, yes, because that worked _so well_ for the both of us.”

“What do you want from me, Swansea?” he bellowed in return before gesturing dramatically in the general direction of the theatre. “The men responsible lie dead in that bloody building! We’re both _fucking leeches_ and that sadistic bastard is our Maker! Everyone involved in this situation is _dead_ in one way or another at this point!”

He turned away then before he _hit_ the fool man, darting back across the room in a blur of motion to plant his hands on the table near the windows. After a moment there was a sniff from behind him and then Swansea’s voice.

“An apology would be a decent first gesture,” the man began and Geoffrey whirled back towards him, extending a finger to jab it in the air towards him.

“An apology to _you_?” he spat viciously. “When you and that bloody bastard started this epidemic? I can’t…”

“ _I_ started this epidemic.”

The matter-of-fact tone in the man’s voice stole Geoffrey’s rage and he scowled, growling disbelievingly, “ _You_ and you alone?”

Swansea nodded slowly, saying, “The Skal epidemic was of my inadvertent doing. I was attempting to find a cure for the influenza and tested the regenerative and healing properties of vampire blood on a patient. I was attempting to do _good_ , McCullum, as I have _always_ done!”

Narrowing his eyes as he leaned back on the table, Geoffrey spat, “Is that you trying to convince _me_ or trying to convince _yourself_ , Swansea? And why should I believe anything that comes out of your mouth?”

“Because the Skals began growing more numerous _before_ Jonathan was ever turned, McCullum! I’m sure your men told you of a new vampire who climbed out of the mass grave in Southwark and killed a woman only a few weeks ago before fleeing into the night.” Swansea shook his head before he went on, “Jonathan and I had never directly dealt with each other until the night after he reawakened, when he tracked the killer on the Docks during that time to the Turquoise Turtle where I was staying while investigating the deaths. Because the Skal responsible had come there as well before moving on.”

“I’m _aware_ of where Reid came from, Swansea. I matched up when he first appeared to that time.” He then frowned and asked, “Who was the woman he attacked? Bringing her up apparently struck a nerve during our fight.”

A look of honest surprise flashed across the doctor’s face and he replied in a stunned tone, “She...she was his sister, Mary Reid. His twin. He quite inadvertently ended up turning her that night after that attack.”

“ _Inadvertently_ ?” Geoffrey repeated in surprise. Carl had always taught him that a leech might only need a little blood to turn a human but that they had to make sure it was _in_ their victim to turn them fully. That to do anything otherwise was to risk death or an unfinished turning process. And yet...what was it Reid had said, before he had given him that foul mockery of a kiss?

_I may have not known what I was doing when I kissed my poor Mary goodbye but now I do._

That explained why the bastard had spoken as if he’d known the woman. His own _sister_. And a _twin_. He could remember something his mother had told him years ago about twins when one of the pair living near them when he was a boy had died suddenly. Something about the living one being left bereft, a half of their soul always gone from that point onward.

Suddenly he perhaps had an idea of _why_ Reid had fallen so hard and so fast after that first encounter in Swansea’s office.

“Let me guess,” he commented, “he took her out a second time.”

“That would be correct. After she killed their mother and the priest that gave the rites at her funeral.”

 _Christ_.

That was enough to drive any man mad. It still was no excuse for the _cruelty_ of his actions. That was all Reid himself. One didn’t just suddenly turn into a monster like that unless there was some kind of darkness already there underneath everything.

Sighing, he shook his head then Geoffrey frowned, thinking hard. Swansea was insistent that the Skal epidemic had broken out _before_ Reid had crawled out of his would be grave. Which, if he believed him, meant…

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hissed under his breath. “Swansea, you _son of a bitch_.”

“Now see here, McCullum, I will not have you insulting my mother…”

“ **BE QUIET!** ” Geoffrey bellowed as he darted forward in a blur of shadows, causing Swansea to flinch violently backwards again. The man then leaned back further as he angrily planted both clenched fists on either side of the Swansea’s hips and loomed over the man, feeling his fangs descend in response to his rage. “If _Reid_ wasn’t around when the epidemic broke out, then you’ve had a bloody leech running around your hospital for longer than I’d thought!”

“M-M-Miss Howcroft is n-not…” the doctor began to stammer and Geoffrey scoffed harshly, cutting him off.

“I’m not an _idiot_ , Swansea. It doesn’t take but one look at that woman to realize that she’s off in the head, not a leech. I ruled her out the last time I came to your office. So, no, not _fucking Howcroft_.” He leaned towards him then, causing Swansea to push himself backwards, the doctor’s hands reaching out to catch himself against the other side of the bed frame. “But you haven’t answered my question.”

Swansea blinked several times before he stammered, “I...I’m afraid you haven’t _asked_ a question, McCullum.”

Nearly losing his temper entirely, Geoffrey moved one hand to grab the doctor by the tie, jerking him forward into his face. “Don’t play me for a _fool_ , you Stole bastard,” he snarled. “You _know_ what I’m asking! What other leech are you hiding?”

The doctor drew in a ragged breath in response before he let it out in an rough exhale, his eyes squeezing shut. “If I tell you,” he said in a whisper, “you must promise me you won't harm her, McCullum.”

“I don’t have to promise _shit_ , Swansea.”

Swansea’s eyes snapped open then and there was _fight_ in them. Yet the doctor didn’t punch back, of course, it just wasn’t in the man’s nature. But Swansea did straighten up and tugged his tie out of Geoffrey’s hand in one quick _snap_ of motion. “She is unaware of my actions in using her blood,” he stated matter-of-factly, guilt heavy in his voice. “Unaware of what it _caused_. And she is my _friend_ , McCullum, and has been for far longer than Jona...than Doctor Reid ever was. Without her aid Pembroke would not be what it is and I have done everything in my power to protect her from woodsmen like _you_.”

Geoffrey scoffed at that, growling, “Doesn’t look like your protection did much if you ended up fucking her over like this.”

Something _broke_ in Swansea’s face at that comment and the man grimaced before bowing his head slightly, eyes darting down and away. “Yes,” he said softly, “but that blame lies with _me_ , McCullum, not her.” Then he lifted his eyes and added, “I have already been called a monster for my actions.”

 _A monster?_ Heinous as starting the epidemic might be, Geoffrey _almost_ believed him that he hadn’t started it deliberately at this point. Terrible as an accident might be, starting one didn’t make one a monster. Ignoring ones _part_ in the disaster did and Swansea...well, to his credit, Swansea seemed to be taking the blame for it.

Was that the action of a monster?

Would _Reid_ have done that if he’d been the guilty one?

Snorting heavily at his thoughts, Geoffrey straightened up and crossed his arms as he frowned down at the man. “So...who _is_ she?”

There was a heavy sigh from the doctor before he replied.

“Lady Elisabeth Ashbury.”

The name didn't ring any bells with any leeches he knew of but there was definitely one way to get to the truth of several the .

“You know where this leech lady lives?”

Swansea stiffened slightly before saying, “I do but the Lady values her privacy, McCullum. It is also quite rude to call upon a lady’s home without her invitation.”

Snorting, Geoffrey asked, “Do I look like the sort who cares about what someone with more money than me wants?” He then unfolded his arms and reached down, grabbing Swansea’s upper arm to haul him to his feet.

“Now,” he growled darkly, “you and I are going to take a little walk and we're going to have a nice talk with your Lady Ashbury. Mostly about your little part in the epidemic and discuss whether or not you actually intended on creating a fucking Disaster like I suspect. And then _maybe_ I'll decide what I'm going to do with the both of you.”

Swansea started to open his mouth but never got to it. Instead he collapsed back onto the bed as Geoffrey released him and staggered back a step, dropping to one knee as pure _emotion_ blasted into his skull and rattled around like a ricocheted shot.

 ** _Anger_** _._ **_Rage_** _._ **_Disappointment_** _._

_The fallen star had fled in terror, proving him wrong about her once again. She was little worth the attention he’d decided to give her._

**_Displeasure!_**

_He would hunt her down in the end._

**_Pleasure_** _._ **_Hunger_** _._ **_Lust_** _._

_Hunt her down and demand answers...one bite at a time if need be._

Geoffrey fell forward onto the floor, gasping at the sudden onslaught of emotions mixed in with those words as he caught himself with one hand, the other rising up to clutch at his suddenly pounding head. As soon as he recovered enough, he peered up at Swansea and found the other man in a similar state on the bed, both hands holding the sides of his head as bloody tears streaked his cheeks again.

“Oh, Jonathan,” the man breathed in a broken tone. “What did you do? What have you _become_?”

“He’s a fucking _monster_ , Swansea,” Geoffrey growled in reply.

Swansea’s head snapped up, anger and sadness and...something else, some other emotion that Geoffrey couldn't put a word to, on his face. “He _was_ a good man, McCullum!”

Grunting, he levered himself to his feet and stared down at the other man. “Aye. _Was_ a good man. That's the key word in your sentence. I may not have some high class doctor schooling but I know that past tense means its it's no longer a thing in the present.” He then scowled and asked, “Who the fuck is the fallen star?”

“Lady Ashbury, I believe. She...since he became as he is now, she has oddly fascinated him.”

Curling his lip, Geoffrey growled, “Which means that our one lead on answering some questions just fled into the wind. All because of _fucking Reid._ ” He clenched both hands into fists as he spoke, grinding his teeth together angrily. There was silence after that for a long moment until Swansea broke it with a softly spoken sentence.

“You mean to kill him.”

It was stated as a fact, not a question.

Baring his fangs, Geoffrey growled, “I mean to rip out his fucking _throat_ when I get the opportunity, Swansea! He fucking _deserves it_ for what he’s done to this city and what he did to _me_.” Taking a step forward, he jabbed a finger in the air towards the man, adding, “ _Fuck_ , he deserves it for what he did to _you_.”

“He sent me one of my own, _one of mine_ , to try and get me to kill that first time,” Geoffrey went on viciously. “I just got fucking lucky that she’s whip smart...even if she should have just _killed me_ then and there. And you, he clawed you up and left you to bloody _starve_ , Swansea. Whatever Reid used to be or was when you picked him up, he’s no longer anything like that...that.” He hesitated momentarily over the final word because he automatically wanted to say _person_ then had almost switched it to _leech_ but had decided to actually be... _decent_ for some reason _..._ and just went with what he had.

“And what of me, McCullum?” Swansea asked then. “You told me once that if I were a vampire you would give me an hour, for old times’ sake.”

“Heh,” Geoffrey scoffed, shaking his head, “well, these aren’t exactly the same times I said that in, Swansea. I intended on still being human when I took your fucking head if you finally got someone to turn you.”

“And now?”

“Still debating on that one.”

Swansea cocked his head slightly to the side, those blue-brown eyes slightly narrowed, before he stated, “It would be quite rude to keep me from starving or attacking someone to just _kill me_ , McCullum.”

Geoffrey shrugged. “Maybe I'll keep you around long enough to help me kill Reid. After that...depends on how you act, Swansea.” He turned away then and headed towards the door, unlocking it again and opening it up.

“I should hope that that sentiment stands for yourself as well,” came the other man’s voice from behind him, the bed frame creaking as he stood.

Stiffening slightly, he thought of his bestial behavior earlier in the night with the Skals, of his own doubts as to his control, of what might make him slip like Reid had. Geoffrey turned, one hand on the now open door and looked back at Swansea, regarding the man silently. Other than the dirt and blood on his clothes along with his missing glasses, the man looked as he always had now that his wounds had healed...minus the ring of blue around the outside of his eyes.

Whether he liked it or not, they were _connected_ through Reid.

“It stands so long as I’m willing to go through with it myself, Swansea,” he replied darkly as he looked at the other man. “You know as well as I do how hard and fast a leech can fall.”

Swansea grimaced at that, shaking his head. “It doesn’t have to be that way, McCullum. Lady Ashbury...I was successfully treating her hunger humanely through transfusions of human blood!”

“It’s not just _the hunger_ , Swansea,” Geoffrey growled. “It’s _us_. It’s the will and power of mind to control ourselves and not give in to it. I can feel it now, already starting to claw its way back into my gut even though I fed on a Skal not even an hour before I found you.”

“I...are you saying you doubt your own control?”

Grunting softly, he met the blue-brown eyes in hard stare and asked in a growl, “Aren’t _you_ , Swansea?” When the doctor immediately looked away in discomfort, he got his answer. They were both damned at this point, each victim and slave to the hunger that drove all vampires to hunt and to kill.

After letting the silence fill the little building for too long a moment, Geoffrey snorted and looked out the door, asking, “So...you going to lay down and die like a dog by giving in to the hunger, you Stole bastard, or do something to make up for the shit you’ve caused this city and help me hunt Reid down?”

For a moment he thought there was going to be no reply and then Swansea sighed before speaking.

“Jon...Doctor Reid was turned for a _reason_ , McCullum, or so I suspect from things he has shared with me. He may be the only one that can stop the epidemic…”

“Bullshit!” he spat, interrupting.

Holding up a hand, the other man continued, “ _But_...after it is over, I fear for what the city may face in the wake of an Ekon such as he. You’ve seen his eyes as close up as I have, McCullum. We, the Brotherhood that is, would call him a Dragon.”

Geoffrey whipped his head around towards the doctor and found him staring back at him, his hands slightly clenched. _Well then._ Had Swansea actually discovered some place to make a stand? “Are you suggesting you Brotherhood bastards would put a Ban on him?” he asked. He wasn’t at all familiar with what the practice actually meant but he _had_ heard about it. Even Carl hadn’t been certain as to what exactly the Ban was or how it affected a vampire declared a Dragon.

“I...I am suggesting we should be ready for anything.”

“Ha, _we_?”

“Yes, _we_ , McCullum.” Swansea sighed, shoulders slumping, and nodded almost to himself. “You are correct that he is no longer the man I met weeks ago. That man... _he_ was my friend...but I am afraid nothing of him exists anymore. You were right.” He lifted a hand to touch casually underneath his jaw where the deep claw marks had been and then his fingers settled over his mouth. Geoffrey could see them shaking as the man finished, “He _is_ a monster.”

After a moment of just looking at the other man, Geoffrey grunted and shook his head at being in _this_ situation - Brotherhood and Priwen teaming up as _bloody leeches_ to kill their own Maker! - and then smirked.

“Well then,” he intoned in an almost pleased sounding growl, “let’s figure out how to hunt ourselves a monster, Swansea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our gents here have still got a _lot_ of work cut out for them in the future. Dear Jonathan will not be easy prey to take out...nor will he be too pleased if he figures out what his wayward Progeny are plotting together about.


	5. Promises, Promises, My Dear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at last, dear friends. A new chapter! I seriously meant to have this out earlier but dear Jonathan has been a little difficult in finishing things up.

_Blood of the purest heart mixed with the blood of a king and essence of pure garlic. Bah. Some simple insulin should work far better and won't harm me._

Despite trying to occupy his mind on compiling a variant of William Marshal’s Tear of Angels, Jonathan found his thoughts drifting back to his last encounter with Lady Ashbury. Given the reveal of the dark secrets in her blood, he had thought that perhaps she had been playing the long game. That she had _tricked_ dear Edgar into taking her blood and doing such foolish things with it. Causing such chaos would have been a delightful turn in her character, even if he disapproved of Edgar’s own methods and of the barbaric nature of the epidemic laden Skals themselves.

But _no_.

The fallen star had proved _disappointing._

She had been distant throughout their entire conversation, merely listening without response as he detailed with pleasure the things he had discovered that led him to the theatre. Her reaction to his choices in Progeny had been...interesting.

For his dear hunter she had merely arched a delicate brow and had commented softly that such a decision may prove foolish in time. He had merely grinned at her, flashing his fangs, and delighted in the appalled look she gave as he said, “Oh, I _do_ hope so.”

For dear Edgar...the response had been strangely bereft of emotion for someone who claimed to be her close friend. Her heart rate had picked up for a brief second then stilled, leaving her calm again. Then she had merely commented, “Jonathan, are you sure that was wise?” and he had laughed.

“What does _wise_ matter, Elisabeth?” he had replied. “I merely wish to see him dance to a different tune.” Then he had grinned and stepped towards her growling, “And, after all, dear Lady, he _betrayed you_. I shouldn't weep for a soul already lost.”

“Betrayed me? I fail to understand, Jonathan, what do you mean?”

He had answered her question in all of the delightful details...and she had fled. Fled in fear and terror...and none caused by him. Fear of something _else_ , proving once and for all that she was nothing worthy of his attention. Yet it was nothing to mourn, the loss of her. He would merely hunt her down and draw out the answers he wanted after the despicable epidemic was cleared from the city. With his _teeth_ if need be.

The star was to be worried over later, not now like some hound worrying over a bit of bone. Now he had a formula to complete...and the ingredients to find.

What, indeed, would be the blood of a pure heart? What was the requirement of _pure_ from those ancient notes? A pity he had no convenient members of the Brotherhood around to question about this so called antidote.

Ah, he wondered how dear Edgar was doing. Had he finally awoken and dragged himself out of the theatre? Was his meager corpse capable of picking itself up and finding a meal? Perhaps a stop at Pembroke was in order as well, to see if he had yet managed to return.

Jonathan hummed to himself as he roved the streets of the West End, contemplating upon what exactly it was that he sought. As he passed by the doors of the Ascalon Club, he smirked. Such pitiful fools with their machinations and little games, pretending they were ‘for the Empire’ when they were really all for themselves. And _worshipping_ their precious…

Oh.

_Oh._

He grinned broadly as he came to a halt in the street, the realization one of staggering implication. What heart was more _pure_ than that of William Marshal himself?

Surely the great _Lord_ Redgrave looked forward to seeing him again. They had parted on such _good terms_ , after all.

Good terms being that they had been _Jonathan’s_ terms and not that disgraceful charlatan’s.

Ah, he wondered what sort of welcome he would get from the front door. Would they be the gentlemen they purported themselves to be or terribly rude?

Smiling, Jonathan crossed the street and drew his hands from his pockets to tap his knuckles against the front door. As the small sliding door at the top drew back, he flashed his fangs and purred, “Lord Finney, what a pleasure. I require a word with your illustrious leader.”

“You are no longer welcome here, traitor,” came the sharp reply. “Begone before we make an _example_ of you.”

As the slide snapped back shut and latched, Jonathan smiled coldly. That was the way it was to be, was it? It seemed Redgrave needed a dire lesson in manners for how he should treat with a guest.

Before he had been unceremoniously ejected from his club membership - likely the shortest membership in Ascalon’s history - he had had quite the look around the club. If he was not mistaken, there was a door at the back of the building and it was not quite as guarded as the front door was. A horrendous oversight on the part of those within.

Any _number_ of ghastly fiends could sneak inside that way.

Chuckling darkly to himself, Jonathan casually strolled around the outside of the club, into the garden, and merely...let himself in. He nonchalantly paced across the wide open first floor, casually reaching into his coat for one of the knives that he kept there. Then he smiled broadly and sprang forward into the foyer, slamming into the utterly unaware Lord Finney and pinning him bodily against the door. The other Ekon’s head _snapped_ against the iron of the door slide and Jonathan let out a low cluck of his tongue as he leaned into the other man’s back.

“Hello, my dear,” he purred darkly into Finney’s ear. “Did no one ever teach you to keep one eye behind you? You never quite know who or what can sneak up behind you, after all.”

“ _You!_ ” the pinned man growled, sounding more than a little dazed.

“ _Me_ ,” Jonathan growled in return before he grabbed Finney’s hand, jerked it up above the door, and then used all of his strength to drive the knife in his other hand through the flesh into the wall. “Now…”

He paused and stepped back enough that he could grab the back of Finney’s jacket, jerking the other Ekon around in a fashion that _tore_ savagely at his pinned hand and made him cry out. When the other man was turned properly around, he stepped in close again and extended the claws on one hand as he tapped his knuckles under Finney’s chin.

“Now, my dear,” he purred, “are you going to tell me where your illustrious leader is?”

“Or else _what_?” Finney snapped back, all bravado and half daring.

Jonathan just chuckled and shifted his hand, dragging the tips of his claws along the underside of Finney’s jaw, just deep enough that they drew blood. Then he leaned in close, close enough that he could feel the soft caress of the other’s breath on his face, and darkly rumbled, “Or else I take you apart _piece_ by precious _piece_ until you do.”

Finney’s bloodshot eyes went wide and he hissed, “You wouldn’t _dare_ stand against Ascalon. Kill one of us and the others will fall upon you.”

“Oh, is that so? Then _why_ , dare I ask, wasn’t I so punished for ridding the world of Fergal?” Jonathan purred. He then smiled and licked the drops of blood from his claws before he growled, “Instead I was _rewarded_. Or what you would call rewarded by being included into your precious little club. And now, with my expulsion, I’ve seen little hide nor hair of any of your champions. Why is that?”

Chuckling darkly, he forcefully tipped Finney’s head back and licked at the droplets of blood beading underneath his jaw from the wounds he’d made. He felt the other Ekon let out a shocked gasp at the act as he shuddered and Jonathan smiled as he added in a dark whisper, “Or do the mighty warriors of Ascalon _fear me_?”

Finney growled before he spat, “Ascalon? Fear _you_?”

“And yet you tremble with it,” Jonathan pointed out with a smile. “Now...will you answer my question or do I need to begin deciding which parts to take first? Don’t forget, I am a doctor.”

“And what should _that_ mean to me?”

His smile widened into a grin and Jonathan leaned in to purr into the other Ekon’s ear, “It means I know how to make your suffering _slow_. How to keep you from bleeding out before I have the answers I want. And what I can _take_ that will hurt the most.”

Finney barked out a laugh at that, responding, “Do you think I don’t know _pain_ , whelp?”

“Hmm, I would be a fool to think such a thing. But I don’t think that you would enjoy it...unless you do enjoy pain. That could make things _far_ more interesting.”

“Does a doctor not have _oaths_ he has to swear to do no harm?” Finney gasped.

Jonathan growled, grasping the other man’s jaw in his claws, and rumbled, “My oaths _broke_ the moment I did.” He then reached into his coat, drawing a surgical knife from a pocket, and held it up between them before he pressed the edge of the blade again Finney’s cheek. “Now...where do I begin? Somewhere _small_. Fingernails, perhaps? I have heard how _excruciating_ it is to have them pulled from the fingers inch by inch.”

“ _Enough!_ ” Finney exclaimed and Jonathan grinned widely as he caught a hint of _fear_ from the Ekon. Apparently when the threat was actually physical and more than just verbal he was actually pressed to believe it. The other man then jerked his chin subtly towards one of the doors off to the side, hissing, “He’s in his office. The door should be unlocked.”

“Excellent,” purred Jonathan. He then reached up to tug his knife out of the wall, drawing a pained grunt out of Finney, and growled as he tucked the blade away, “Take your leave, Lord Finney. Unless you wish to be next after your leader.”

“This won’t stand, Reid. Ascalon will answer this with _blood_!”

“Oh, I am utterly _trembling_ at the thought, my dear,” he called over his shoulder as he moved towards the closed door. Jonathan turned back to grin at the other Ekon, flashing a short wave with the hand still holding the surgical knife, before turning the door knob to enter. As he shut it behind him, he narrowed his eyes across the room and found Lord Redgrave standing behind his desk, back towards the door itself as he perused the books on the shelves.

“What is it, Lord Finney?” the head of Ascalon drawled, sounding almost bored.

Jonathan smirked and moved a step further into the office before he replied, “I’m afraid I’ve come to collect something from you, _my lord_.”

Redgrave spun, eyes wide with anger and fangs bared, a snarled, “ _You!_ ” sliding past his lips as he reached for something. Assumably a weapon. Jonathan, however, had already been in motion the moment he turned and before the last note of the other Ekon’s voice had died. He slammed Redgrave back into the bookshelf, pinning him with his weight as he smirked and let the point of the surgical knife press up into the soft spot just underneath the man’s chin.

“ _Yes_ ,” he growled back in a low purr. “ _Me_.”

The head of Ascalon hissed, jerking his chin up slightly, but Jonathan merely followed with the knife, not letting him escape that easily. Those red stained blue eyes - what a _pity_ that he only had the balls to eat so little - glared fiercely.

“You are making a _grave mistake_ , Doctor Reid.”

“Oh, am I?” Jonathan returned. “Are you so certain, my lord? Will Ascalon come after me with all the fury of a gnat then? Because that is _more_ than I have seen from you since my so-called betrayal.”

“You are _out of control_ , Reid, and have been ever since what you did to Aloysius Dawson!” Redgrave argued. “You've let your _beast_ rule you!”

At the comment Jonathan laughed coldly.

“Look _again_ , Redgrave. I may be a _monster_ but I am not ruled by it.” He then grinned and purred, “Oh, and Dawson deserved what he received. Such a fearful man.”

The leader of Ascalon scoffed before he hissed, “Your _eyes_ tell me otherwise. _Never be considered a Dragon._ ”

“Ah, yes, your little warning from your precious laws regarding the Brotherhood and their _Ban_ ,” Jonathan sneered mockingly. “I have no _fear_ of the Brotherhood. Nor of you.” He drove the tip of the knife up higher as if to enforce his point, drawing a hiss out of the older vampire. “Not when you are so weak that you must have others do your precious dirty work for you.”

Redgrave hissed in pain and glared out of the corner of his eye. “You should be put down like a rabid dog off the leash!” he snapped. “I should never invited you to join us!”

“Oh, were _you_ hoping to hold my leash, my lord?” Jonathan sneered as he went on, “A _beast_ on the chain for you? Another at your beck and call like poor, poor Fergal? Well, _my dear_ , I tell you firmly that _I_ will never be leashed like some hunting hound and any that try will die on my claws.”

“Does that mean you intend to kill me, Doctor Reid?”

Chuckling, Jonathan replied, “Kill you? No, no, not quite _yet_ , Redgrave. You still may have a few uses that I can claw out of you. I have one in particular that I have need of today.” Leaning in, he purred into the other man’s ear, “Where is William Marshal’s blood?”

He heard the affronted gasp in his ear and grinned as Redgrave gave the answer he expected.

“You would _demand_ the blood of my Maker?!”

Jonathan laughed harshly and leaned back, finally pulling the surgical knife away from the other vampire’s chin as he grasped at the sleeves of his jacket. He then twisted with a surge of shadows and threw the man onto his desk, pressing himself chest to chest with him with a low snarl as he reached into his coat for one of his knives. Before the shock of the sudden movement wore off from the other vampire, Jonathan had both of Redgrave’s hands pinned to the desk, the knives driven in deep enough that they weren’t coming out without a fight.

“ _You…!_ ” Redgrave shouted in pain, his back arching slightly as he howled at the agony of his palms being pierced by the knives. Jonathan just chuckled darkly and leaned on the man’s chest, crossing one arm over the the other vampire’s ribs and he leaned on his elbow into the soft flesh underneath. There was a deep, pained grunt from the man beneath him and he tutted softly as he shook his head.

“My, my, Lord Redgrave, for a man of your supposed...prowess...you seem to not be very much for a fight. Or even for pain.” Flashing his fangs in a feral grin, Jonathan went on, “One might imagine that you’ve been _lying_ all this time about some of the things you’ve done. Or _who_ you’re descended from.

“ _You dare…!_ ”

Snarling, Jonathan shifted in a flash, his casual pose gone and that of a predator on the hunt in its place. He planted both hands on either side of Redgrave and leaned down into the man’s face, teeth bared.

“Oh, I _dare_ , Lord Redgrave,” he snarled. “I dare call you out on your _blatant lies_. On your attempts to be _something_ more than just another mediocre Ekon who needs someone else to be his sword arm. Just another who _longs_ for power but doesn’t have the ability to _take it_ for himself.”

Jonathan then leaned in closer and purred into the man’s ear, “Who can only spawn _Skals_ from his bloodline.”

Redgrave jerked his head around, an angry denial on his lips, but Jonathan could smell the _fear_ on him. Chuckling, he drew his claws on his left hand and grasped the other vampire’s chin, digging the tips of his claws in enough to draw blood. The smell was... _unpleasant._

It was certainly for a first for him to be _repulsed_ by the scent of blood. Something about it smelt wrong and brought about a distinctly animal response in him to _kill_ its bearer before it could taint the bloodline. But Old Bridget had implied that Redgrave had ceased his attempts to make Progeny of his own when he realized that all he was turning out were Skals.

“Now tell me, my dear,” Jonathan purred, “wherever do you keep William Marshal’s blood when you don’t have it out for show?”

“You will not have it!” Redgrave snarled.

Digging his claws in deep, he snarled into the other man's face, “You will _tell me_ , Lord Redgrave, if you wish to have any city left to support your little parties and mockery of a life of power. Otherwise London will fall to plague and pestilence and it shall be because _you_ chose to let it.”

“You...you _lie_.”

Chuckling darkly as that sickly smelling blood ran down his hand, Jonathan growled, “Do I? Dare you really take such a _chance_?”

Redgrave grimaced, his face a rictus of pain from the deep wounds that Jonathan was gouging in it, and hissed, “Why should I believe anything that comes from the mouth of a beast?”

Leaning in close so they were nose to nose, he growled before snapping his fangs a mere breathe away from the tip of Redgrave's. “Because without _me_ , my dear,” Jonathan purred, “this city _dies._ That is not a _threat._ That is a _promise._ My hand will not be the one that brings the destruction but…”

He trailed off, smiling as he dug his claws in deeper, feeling the tips drive into _bone_ , and the man beneath him _howled_ in agony.

“...without my hand, our precious feeding ground will become nothing but a pile of corpses for the carrion.”

Jonathan's smile turned mocking and cruel as he brought up the hand still holding the surgical knife, tapping the edge of the blade against the other Ekon’s cheekbone. “Or,” he drawled, “I can drag it out of you. It won't be pleasant, of course, as I take you apart piece by piece. One torturous _inch_ at a time.”

Pressing the blade against Redgrave’s cheek, he drew a sharp line of blood he asked, “Shall I begin? I'm afraid I don't have all night, as I still have a few other things to collect so I can save this city. So if we _are_ to get started, we certainly need to get started _now_.”

“You…!”

“Is that a _yes_ then, _my Lord?_ ” Jonathan asked mockingly before he drew another line upwards from the bottom of the first. The Ekon beneath him hissed out a ragged breath in response but said nothing, so he continued and finished the last line. Then he pressed the edge of the blade underneath one of the corners of cut skin, holding the pressure with his thumb, before he peeled the little cut section of skin away. Redgrave _howled_ in response, his body arching off the desk, those reddened blue eyes full of anger and pain and _delicious fear_ as he glared.

“There is a safe!” he finally hissed in agony. “Beneath my desk!”

Grinning, Jonathan wiped the small droplets of blood off of the surgical knife into the man’s white vest and casually flipped it away, tucking it back underneath his coat. “My thanks, Lord Redgrave,” he purred as he used the other hand to pat the Ekon on his unharmed cheek after tugging his claws out of the man’s jaw. “Your oh-so-noble sacrifice may yet save this city you proclaim to care about.”

Those pale pale eyes turned to glare at him as the other Ekon lay panting stop the desk, his fingers curling in and out of his his knife pierced palms. Redgrave growled then spat, “I will see you _suffer_ for this, Doctor Reid. I will _personally_ see you burn!”

“Will you now?”

Jonathan chuckled darkly as he straightened up, smirking down at the man. “I look forward to seeing how you manage that without your pet Vulkod at your every whim. But _do_ send your little minions after me if you dare. I might be in need of a bit of entertainment and a snack every so often.”

He then took a step back and crouched, peering underneath the desk to see the small shape of a safe there. Glancing up over the edge, he asked, “And the _combination_ , Lord Redgrave?”

The figure still pinned to the desk growled before Jonathan dug his claws into his thigh, then he yelled, “Fourteen, fifty-two, thirty-seven!”

“Thank you very much, my dear.”

With the combination input in quick succession, the door swung open and Jonathan reached inside to claim his prize. Redgrave let out a low groan as he rose with the small ornate container in his hand, his expression a mix of pain and intense worry as he stared at it. “Be _careful_!” the Ekon warned. “There is so little left!”

“Oh, don’t worry at all. I will still leave some of your _so-called Maker’s_ blood behind so you may continue your little sham of an existence.” Grinning, Jonathan reached into his coat, pulling out one of a few small vials he had been carrying around just in case he happened to have need of it. He carefully filled half of it with the concoction that came out of the container. To call it _blood_ would be to do so in the loosest term and he wondered how exactly they had been keeping it from solidifying into a useless mess over all of the years there must have been between Redgrave coming into possession of it.

As he capped the vial, he placed the ornate container back into the safe, spun the dial, and then rose to grin down at the still laid out Ekon. “Do have fun getting yourself free,” he stated as he walked around the desk. Once on the other side, Jonathan leaned over Redgrave from upside down and gave him a wide grin. “And I look forward to seeing whatever it is you plan to do in retaliation towards me. Do at least make it _interesting_ , my dear.”

With that he turned and strode away, leaving the Lord of Ascalon displayed across his desk with a knife pinning him to the surface through either hand.

“You are _dead_ , Doctor Reid!” the Ekon shouted after him. “ _Dead!_ ”

Laughing, Jonathan simply called back, “Promises, promises, my dear,” before he exited the building that seemed so very empty now. There certainly weren’t any eager Ekons standing between him and the door now to keep him from leaving. Such a pity.

As he strode away from the building, he pulled out the vial of blood and peered at it curiously. Such a small thing and yet it would supposedly aid in protecting him from whatever this Disaster was.

Scoffing, he tucked it back into his coat before he began the journey back towards the Pembroke. There was surely insulin somewhere amongst the supplies in the old morgue and then he would have two of the three ingredients that he had need of.

Now...he had but need of the blood of a King.

Conveniently, he knew somewhere that he could find such a thing within the city.

Grinning to himself, Jonathan broke into a series of shadow steps and jumps forward, away from the West End and towards the edge of Whitechapel where the hospital lay. He would find his second ingredient and store both aside before he perhaps had a little...meal...to sate the edges of the hunger starting to burn in his belly.

And _then_ , he would begin the hunt for his wayward little hunter.


End file.
